


Sensory Overload

by WhoInWhoville



Series: I love AUs [15]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, Bad Wolf, Cameos, F/M, Fluff, Fun, Kissing, Light Angst, Mutual Pining, Original Characters - Freeform, Parliament, Romance, Royal Marriage, Soulmarks, Soulmates, Wedding, character death before the story begins, flower shop, legal stuff, lots of Who characters mentioned in passing, royal and commoner, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-22 04:13:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 52,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11959470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoInWhoville/pseuds/WhoInWhoville
Summary: Rose Tyler has loved him, well, forever, and now she has the King's soulmark, but he doesn't know. The royal wedding is imminent -- and Rose is not the bride.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kelkat9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kelkat9/gifts), [Bittie752](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bittie752/gifts).



> This story is complete, and chapters will be posted twice a week on Thursday and Sunday, more often if I become more motivated.
> 
> Huge thanks to kelkat9, and bittie752 -- this is a belated birthday gift to Bittie, and a really belated birthday gift to KK. {{HUGS}}
> 
> I think that there was a prompt on tumblr way way back. This was a one-shot that sorta got away from me.
> 
> ***WARNING WARNING WARNING***  
> If you are sympathetic to Reinette, you will NOT like this story. Do yourself a favor and DO NOT READ. I will not respond to any comments claiming I am "Reinette bashing". She is NOT a nice person in this story, and it is the course that I wanted the character to take.
> 
> There are three character deaths, but they are not gruesome nor does the story dwell upon them, but they are plot-centric. If you want to be spoiled, read the end notes.

**Prologue**

As long as Rose Tyler could remember, there were a few things that she absolutely adored: Mum, the colour pink, flowers (the pink ones), her bedroom (it was pink), and His Royal Highness, Crown Prince John X of the Kingdom of Gallifrey. 

The family business was a florist shop located on Peckham Street, which was situated south of the Cadonflood river. The river divided the city of Arcadia into the wealthy, aristocratic north side, and the working class south side. The building that the shop was in had started out life as a pub in 1785 (Rose had asked her Mum if there were dinosaurs walking around the royal city of Arcadia back in olden times). Her Granddad and Gran had bought the abandoned corner of the old building and had turned into a flower shop before the War. 

When Rose was an infant, her dad had been hit by a car, and tragically, he died. So then it was just Rose and Mum. But her mother was a wonderful woman. She showed Rose the value of hard work, was compassionate, cheerful, and fun-loving.

Little blonde-haired, golden brown-eyed Rose grew up surrounded by the sweet and fresh aroma of blossoms and greenery. By the time she was five years old, she knew the name of every flower that was sold in the shop just by sight, and knew most by smell. Of course, the pink ones were her favourite.

And like all of the loyal subjects of Gallifrey, the portraits of the beloved royal family hung in a place of honour on the wall behind the cash register. Often, she looked up at the regal face of King Alistair, and the kind face of Queen Doris. But the Prince was her favourite. Prince John X was her very own, real life, fifteen year old Prince Charming.

Her picture books were filled with his cutout face pasted over the faces of fairytale princes. She drew stick figure pictures of him holding hands with a certain blonde-haired, brown-eyed princess who always wore pink gowns, and always, they were standing in front of a simple, boxy, turreted castle with a moat.

For Halloween, she would dress up as a princess. She wore her mum's pink satin dress that she knew had the puffiest sleeves in the whole world. Her best friend, Mickey, who was a little bit older, always would take her trick or treating through the block of flats where they lived. She told everyone that he was Prince John, who happened to be dressed as a pirate.

Just before January 30th, every year Rose would make the Prince a birthday card covered with sparkles and hearts. Together, Rose and her mother would walk to the big, red postbox on the corner. Rose would stand on tiptoe, and push the envelope through the slot.

And most nights, she would hug her favorite teddy bear, press the play button on her pink CD player, and dance around her pink bedroom to her _Sleeping Beauty_ CD.

“I love you, Prince John,” Rose would say before she kissed Mr. Tedopolous on his fuzzy brown cheek.

oOo

Prince John was seven when Queen Doris had come up with the plan.

"Darling, I don't see why this gaggle of palace children have to leave the palace every day and be carted off to school," the Queen had said to the King one summer afternoon. "We shall have our own jolly little school right here in the Palace. We certainly have the facilities. John can grow up having friends. You'd always wished that for him, right?" 

"Brilliant idea, Dearest," King Alistair had agreed.

So the children of the secretaries, diplomats, executive staff, domestic staff, groundskeepers, etc... and Cousin Harry (the King and Queen's ward, Duke Harold Saxon, the Earl of Oakdown), were all schooled together. So the Prince grew up with a cadre of friends (and a few frenemies, like cousin Harry and his partner in crime, that surly Vislor Turlough, son of the head groundskeeper). 

He had two best mates: Donna and Jack. Donna was the family chauffeur's granddaughter, and was constantly reminding him, "I am _not_ Sabrina, and you are definitely _not_ Harrison Ford or Humphrey Bogart, and I am _never_ going to be in love with with you. Got it, Crown Boy?" Jack was the son of someone who worked in the American embassy. Somehow he'd wormed (conned? charmed?) his way into palace life. (The Queen adored him. The King tolerated him.) He didn't officially live there, but may as well have. 

When Crown Prince John turned fifteen, he began to notice the pretty girls and lovely women who lived, worked, and flitted in and out of the palace. He flirted with the female staff in the hallways, and danced with diplomats' daughters at parties. He liked kissing and hugging and holding hands. He fancied himself a bit of a poet and wrote (really terrible) sonnets to that platinum blonde (and a little bit frightening) gate guard with the fierce and protective eyes who reminded him of that actress who played Captain Phasma... and to his mum's cute and bubbly ladies' maid who looked just like Daisy from that dull soap Downton Abbey soap opera that his Mum loved... and to the kind, quiet daughter of his father's tailor who could be Audrey Hepburn's twin.

One time, Donna and John had kissed, dared by Jack, and had immediately jumped away from each other and rubbed the lingering distaste off of their lips with their shirt sleeves, knowing that they were definitely _best_ mates, not _soul_ mates. 

But it wasn't a girlfriend that Prince John longed for (not that he would even be allowed to have a girlfriend), he wanted what his parents had. Much of their work-time was spent sitting at an antique partners' desk. There, they would brainstorm how to improve the national library system; they would have an argument about the possibility of life on other planets; they hand-wrote replies to as many letters from their subjects as they could. 

His parents were the picture of what a marriage could, and should, be. They held hands when they made public appearances; took meals in the kitchen happily chatting with the staff; they attended John's footie matches and cheered right along with the other parents. Most of all, they were devoted to each other. In a world where royals married other royals for political advantage, his parents had married for love.

They were soulmates.

And _that_ is what he wanted.

oOo 

When Rose was thirteen, away went the fairytale picture books, and up went the fold-out special edition mini posters from those gossipy, bubblegum magazines devoted to royals and boy bands. Twenty-three year old Prince John was _fit_ , having grown out of his skinny, gangly stage. He'd filled out into a lean, muscular, tall man. Rose and her friends would coo how he was _sooooooooo cute_ in his university robes or cricket whites, _hot_ in jeans and an indie-band t-shirt when he went clubbing. But in his regal princely attire, he was _gorgeous._

Rose would turn on the pop radio station, and dance around her pink bedroom. She imagined that she was wearing a skin tight sequinned mini-dress and four inch rhinestone stilettos, and Prince John was wearing second-skin jeans and that tight Superman t-shirt. They were on the dance-floor at one of those posh clubs in Soho -- the kind with the red velvet rope and a tall, bald bouncer who would always usher them in without a question.

oOo

He was twenty-three and restless. He'd finished university (early) with a doctorate in astrophysics, and really didn't want to move back to the palace. He wanted to travel. So he got his pilot's license, bought a two-person jet, and hopped continents for a year, visiting the world's most renown and historic observatories, advanced radio telescopes, and deep space arrays. At one point, he'd even been invited by NASA to join the next astronaut training class. He was at Cape Canaveral in Florida, USA when he called his dad to let him know that he wouldn't be back for a while. "Just imagine! Me! The first royal in space!" But that plan was quickly squashed as too risky for the next monarch, and he returned home and did the next best thing: taught at Gallifrey university hoping that perhaps someday, one of his students would set foot on Mars.

oOo

She turned twenty. The scrapbooks dedicated to Prince John, and all of those clipped pictures from _Smash Hits_ magazine were lovingly and safely packed away in plastic bins, and the life-sized stand-up cardboard cutout of the Prince -- with lips a bit worn from fingertips-to-lips goodbye kisses -- was carefully flattened and slipped under her bed.

Now, a framed portrait of His Royal Highness and an always-fresh and perfect pink rose in a silver vase graced her bedside table. His was the first face she saw in the morning, and the last she said goodnight to.

And she was no longer living in her childhood flat. She was on her own. Her dream of going to university had burst when her mum had died unexpectedly -- just when she'd found love again. But Rose had inherited the family business... that small, but bustling and profitable (enough) florist shop.

And she no longer had a crush on Crown Prince John of Gallifrey. Rose Tyler was in love. No one believed her, but deep in her heart, she _knew_ her love for the man that she had never met was totally and completely and undeniably _real_.

oOo

He was thirty. And single. The King and Queen consistently nagged him to at least _try_ to meet some nice (aka marriageable) women. They even arranged some blind dates with both noble-born and commoners (how very un-royal and inappropriate wagged aristocratic tongues). Some of the meetings were pleasant, but all were a bust. He made some new friends, but none of them sparked his soul. 

"Her hand didn't fit in mine, Jack. It was cold and limp and felt like I was _touching_ a mushy pear."

"I couldn't _see_ any sparkle in her eyes. I took her to the planetarium and she fell asleep. Asleep! How can anyone fall asleep when there are stars! If she'd just kept her eyes open she'd have seen the wonders of the universe. And she was wearing a pear-shaped diamond ring." 

"Blimey. If this were 1939 I would have sought out the nearest bomb shelter. When she laughed, all I could _hear_ was air raid siren. And she went on and on and on about nothing. Literally nothing, well, except her family's pear orchard." 

"Her perfume _smelled_ like pears. I'm completely serious. Pear perfume. I almost threw up." 

"She ordered a pear-tini at dinner, and then she kissed me. Just lunged at me, and of course, she tasted like _pear."_

"I'm serious. The universe is conspiring against me with all of those pears. I just want a soulmate, Jack! Is that too much to ask? My parents are soulmates, my grandparents were soulmates. It runs in families, right? I'm starting to worry it isn't gonna happen for me."

"Keep looking, Doc. She's out there. But... you sure you don't want to use those five senses of yours and test me out?"

"Jack...."

oOo

Twenty-five year old Rose had settled in to the life of a shopkeep. She really _did_ love her shop. Brightening people’s days in big or small ways, making a celebration a bit more beautiful, or helping soften the pain of tragedy or a broken heart — this job wasn’t just her vocation. Floral design was her passion. And at least in this aspect of her life, she was perfectly happy and content.

Of course her parents had named her _Rose_ , and she’d stopped rolling her eyes at people’s comments a long time ago. _“Rose is such an appropriate name!” “That’s so sweet! Rose sells roses!” “You were named after the shop, weren't you?”_ Well, she _did_ still roll her eyes at that last one, because the antique carved wooden sign -- from the shop's former life as a pub -- hanging outside above the door proudly stated _The Wolf and Rose - Est. 1785_ and she was certain she wasn’t over two hundred years old, even if some days she felt like it. Today was one of those days.

Normally, creating the flower arrangements for a wedding brought her joy and fulfillment. But not this wedding. It was 5:30 am, and she’d been up for almost thirty-six hours. And even though this wedding would pay more than all of last year’s jobs combined - multiplied by three - she’d felt nothing but pain and misery every minute of the past three months.

 _How did this even happen?_ she'd asked repeatedly over the past few months. _Of all of the shops in the whole country, how’d my shop get chosen? This is wrong. So, so wrong._ And Rose Tyler felt that all-too-familiar sense of complete wrongness deep within her soul.

And that magic place on her neck screamed, begged, and cried out to Rose to find the other half of her soul.

oOo

"Don't go that way, John. The wolf was seen there in that wood last night."

Thirty-four year old John followed his best friend, Jack, taking the trail that circled the small lake instead of the one that went through the woods. He ran until his lungs burned, pushing himself much harder than he probably should have on such an important day. But he kept going. As long as the physical pain was there, he had something to keep his mind occupied.

He was two months shy of thirty-five years old, and today was his wedding day. 

But he wasn't marrying his soulmate.

King John had never found her.


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose Tyler finds her soulmate, and a Prince becomes a King.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst alert. TW: character deaths referenced.
> 
> The Gallifreyan Parliamentary system is _not_ the same as British Parliament. I love AUs. You can make your own rules!

**Fourteen Months Before**

“Rose, the Prince is about to dedicate a memorial about two blocks up. Let’s go see him! Come on, hurry.”

“As much as I’d love to, I can’t, Martha. I have to finish a couple of arrangements for an afternoon delivery.”

“I’ll do ‘em,” said Lynda. “I’ve sworn off of Prince John. Don’t think my heart can take anymore just-look-can't-touch.” She sighed dramatically.

“Your heart? I don’t think you heart has anything to do with it,” Amy teased. “More like your—”.

“Hush Amy,” Lynda chastised with a giggle. "There are customers just on the other side of that wall!" She turned to Rose. "Go on. Go see him. Amy and me’ll take care of things here. We got to see him last week anyway. You haven't seen him in person for about a month now. And his new haircut is dead sexy. Besides, I think you're in Prince John withdrawal."

"Yeah, Babes, you've been a right misery," added Rose's ex-boyfriend, Mickey. "Though I don't know what any of you see in him."

"Don't be jealous, Micks. We all love you!" Amy, Rose, Martha, and Lynda surrounded him in a crushing group hug.

“Yeah, okay. I could do with a dose of Prince John.” Rose grabbed her jacket, and headed out the door with her friend, flatmate, medical student, and fellow Prince John fangirl, Martha Jones.

oOo

Rose and Martha wormed their way to the front of the crowd, just behind the waist-high temporary security fencing and a bit to the side of the podium.

"His hair really is much better in person. Like this style better than the last one. It was a bit too flat,“ Martha whispered discreetly into Rose's ear. "Look at it. Nice and short in back and all spiky and grabbable on top. Yum."

“Oooo, Wouldn’t that be a good job? To be the lucky person who does Prince John's hair?” She sighed with a smile. "I just want to run my fingers through it and give it a good tug. That's some _really_ great hair," she growled. "And bless his tailor. That blue suit fits him absolutely perfectly."

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen," the Prince began.

"That voice, it’s like melted chocolate. Matches his eyes,” Martha cooed.

“Hush, I wanna hear," Rose admonished. "But yeah."

Both women pinched smiles and settled in to listen.

“Seventy-three years ago today, something _amazing_ happened. We were right smack dab in the middle of the Blitz. And that night, a bomb was dropped. A big, fat, ugly bomb just ripe to explode."

Rose's belly flipped, and a tingle danced up her spine. She loved how he squeezed his eyes shut and made his words live and breathe. And then he'd balance on one foot and catch himself with the other, bouncing from place to place wildly gesturing with his head and hands. He never broke eye contact with his audience, seeking each and every person at least once. And when it was her turn for his eyes to find hers, she thought she'd never be able to breathe again.

"...But it didn’t land on a row of shops, or a church, or a library. It steered clear of everything." He paused, one hand in the air, and everyone leaned forward a bit. "Turn around and look behind you. Go on. Take a look. Right there in the middle of that street, that's where it landed."

"But it didn’t explode. It... was... a... dud," he said, dramatically emphasising each word.

A communally-held breath of relief was released.

"Had you going there for minute, didn't I?" He grinned. "Good thing it didn't explode, too. Because right up there," he gestured behind him, "in those small flats in this building behind me lived people. Of course there were people living in the flats! Elderly men and women. Babies. Students. War brides. Families. Dogs. Cats. Parakeets! Maybe even a newt or two. Nothing out of the ordinary there. Normal everyday people. People who went to work, fed their families, wrote love letters to their soldiers and sailors. A microcosm of the brave citizens of this venerable, stalwart city.

"Of course there are plenty of stories like this one — of bombs being near-misses, people in the right place at the right time. And that is _exactly_ why I'm here today. But before we get to the official part, I want you to know why this particular place was chosen."

The Prince pulled a folded sheet of paper from inside his coat, slipped on his glasses (both Rose and Martha sighed), and then he cleared his throat.

“I received a letter a while back from an older gentleman named Jamie Jones. It want to read a little bit of it.

_My mother was very young when she had me. One of those sailor shipping out the next day stories. And she was all on her own bravely caring for me, her wee tot. But not only was she caring for me, she was also the unofficial mum to a group of about a dozen children without homes. Children without parents who didn’t know when they might get their next meal. And Mum made sure these children were fed, clothed, and safe from the bombs. She was willing to give her life for us, but thankfully, she survived along with all of us. My dear Mum died last year, and I was going through her things. I found one of the little gas masks that she made sure all of us kids had._

The Prince reverently refolded the letter and slipped it inside his suit coat.

"Inspiring, isn't it? Jamie's Mum," he gushed with a wide smile. "She may have used a few Oliver Twisty pick-pockity wiles to provide for these children. But I think we'll give her a pass on that." He winked. "Also in that letter, Jamie tells how seventy-three years ago tonight, he found himself huddled up with those ragamuffin children in the cellar of this building behind me, all of them protected by brave Nancy. The sirens had gone off, and there was no underground nearby, and no shelter to run to. And that building, with all of those little lives full of potential huddling in the cellar, was spared.

“So in honor of the unsung heroes, people like Jamie’s mother Nancy, I dedicate this monument.”

With a flourish, he removed the cloth covering the bronze statue of a young woman holding the hand of her little boy. A gas mask dangled by the strap from his little hand.

And in the middle of the clapping crowd, Rose Tyler found herself sniffing away tears. “That story was so beautiful,” she said to Martha.

“Yeah, it was a good one, wasn’t it?” Martha grinned. 

“How does he do it? He was just standing there talking about the Blitz, and I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. It was like somehow, I was pulling every word into my heart.”

“You are such a fangirl,” teased Martha.

Rose shook her head. “No. It’s more than that. I can’t explain it. Every time I hear him talking, I get this little feeling -- I feel this shiver go up and down my spine, and a warmth that settles right in my neck. It’s daft. Never mind." Rose looked down sadly. “Sorta hurts, y’know? Knowing I’ll never even have a chance with him."

“There’s a reason it’s called a _crush_ , Rose.” Martha smirked.

“Goodbye, and thank you for coming today!” he said to the small crowd, working his way down the barrier shaking hands. 

And then he was right there, shaking Martha's hand, and then shaking _her_ hand. "Thank you for coming," he said to both of them, grinning.

"Thanks for... errr... dedicating," Rose said. 

Soon, he was heading towards his chauffeured vehicle. He turned and waved one more time at the crowd.

"Thanks for dedicating?" Martha spewed a laugh.

Rose groaned and hid her face in her hands. "I'll tell you what though. He shook our hands!"

The women grabbed each other and jumped up and down like thirteen year olds. They waited until his car was out of sight before they began their walk back to Rose's shop.

Rose sighed with a goofy grin. “He really is perfect, isn’t he?” She scratched the nape of her neck. “Isn’t it a bit cold for mosquitoes? Just got a bite. I hate those awful blood sucking little monsters.”

“I swear those things would survive a nuclear bomb. Oh let's hurry back. It's starting to rain."

Rose flipped up the fuzzy, faux fur-trimmed hood of her puffy black parka.

oOo 

"That is definitely not a mosquito bite," Martha said later when they had settled for the night back at their shared flat. She brushed her thumb over the reddish mark at the nape of her friend's neck, just below her hairline. "And I don't think it's a spider bite because there's no puncture wound." Martha continued to examine. "You know, it's got these lines running through it. Really faint. So weird. But it also has a red halo - about the size of a quid. Definitely not a tick. I'm gonna circle it with a Sharpie, alright? And if it gets any bigger, I want you to go to your GP."

"It's driving me bonkers! I wanna claw my skin off!” Rose held the hand mirror and angled it so that she could see the reflection of her neck in the bathroom mirror. 

“Other than the itching, how do you feel?"

“I’m fine.”

“Can I feel your glands? Look in your throat, maybe?” 

“Sure.” Rose tilted her chin, and Martha went into medical student mode.

“Nothing’s swollen. Anything tender?”

Rose shook her head and then her head snapped towards the television in the other room. “Oh! The statue dedication is on." The women rushed out of the bathroom and stood in front of the telly.

"I can see the back of our heads! Really good hair day, Rose. Love the messy bun.”

"Ta."

_"So in honor of the unsung heroes, people like Jamie’s mother Nancy, I dedicate this monument."_

Rose stiffened and clawed at the back of her neck, scratching furiously. “It's getting worse!”

Martha roughly turned Rose's head for another look. “Stop scratching! You’re gonna draw blood. Seriously, if it doesn’t get better overnight, I think you should have it looked at."

_"Tomorrow, Prince John will be giving a guest lecture at the Royal Observatory regarding the possibility of extra-terrestrial life. The event was sold out within an hour of the announcement. We will be bringing it to you live over on GBC Three tomorrow at eight. Next—"_

Rose aimed the remote at the telly and switched to Netflix. “Pick something to watch while I make popcorn and tea."

"I'll make you up an ice bag, too. Maybe putting it on your neck will help?" Martha suggested.

Martha and Rose settled in to binge a few episodes of _The Great Gallifreyan Bakeoff._ By the time all of the bakers were kneeling in front of their ovens watching their puff pastry either turn golden brown or charcoal black, the itching had stopped, and the strange, red blotch on the back of Rose's neck had faded away.

oOo

“Oh, that’s precious, Lynda,” cooed Rose. "Lily of the Valley is so perfect for a baby. It's been so mild for January. Wonder when the other shoe's gonna drop. Usually they don't bloom until March."

“The dad ordered it. Mummy and baby are coming home from hospital this afternoon.”

“I know some people would probably think it's silly, but the yellow rubber ducky vase always makes me smile. I definitely want a ducky arrangement if I ever have a baby. Promise me you’ll make sure I get one?” Rose grinned at Lynda.

"That your way of telling us we'll be needing to work on wedding flowers for you soon? Did you secretly get back together with Micks? 'Cos Martha'll be disappointed."

Rose raised an eyebrow. "Uh, no, to answer your question. And really? Martha and Mickey?

“Yeah, they've been making moon eyes at each other."

Rose smiled. "Good to know!"

_”Alright Prince John, you must talk for thirty seconds without pausing or halting or using filler words such as um or ah. And here is your topic: Ancient Rome. And... go!”_

“Turn up the radio would ya? I love this show!” Lynda enthused.

Rose stopped and listened to her beloved Prince skillfully ramble about the merits of the Roman Republic versus the Roman Empire, which morphed into a discussion about the goddess Fortuna, and then Shakespeare’s Roman cycle, human pot pies of revenge, and murderous best mates. He wrapped up with a quick explanation of the construction of Hadrian's Wall before he was declared a winner.

And her neck itched in spite of her laughter.

oOo 

"I propose that we all draw names and send each other Valentines. And we send them from our favourite blokes," said Amy. "Of course, one of you will have to be Rory, because he won't remember. He's working thirty-six hour ER rotations."

Rose pinched back a smile. Rory _had_ remembered, and had chosen well.

"I want mine from that blonde barista next door," Lynda added. "Martha won't need to be in the exchange. I happen to know someone's already put in an order. And his name starts with an M and ends with a Y," she whispered.

"So he's finally put on his big boy pants," Amy teased.

"Yeah, and he told me he has the night off, too. Unless there's some national emergency of course and he has to go in to work."

"Yeah, a run on roses by all of those last minute shoppers. Valentine's is always crazy. It's not like there aren't signs in every shop, and still, 'I didn't know it was today'," mocked Rose.

"And please don't tell Martha," Lynda said quickly as she saw Mickey outside the door. "I wasn't supposed to say anything." Amy and Rose promised. "I know who will be pretend-sending Rose's Valentine," sing-songed Lynda as Mickey walked in wearing his all-black combat gear.

"What's a ‘pretend-sending’ Valentine?" he asked with a confused look on his face. 

Lynda explained the exchange.

"Yeah, but don't make _me_ pretend. I can't afford to send her a bouquet the likes of something Prince John would send," he smirked from his perch on the counter.

"I'll take dark chocolate vanilla cream truffles please. And throw in a couple of those big chocolate-dipped strawberries, ta," Rose said. "And my favourite pink and yellow roses."

Mickey rolled his eyes. 

Martha volunteered to take Mickey's spot in the Valentine's Day gift exchange, and did indeed do Prince John proud. And on Valentine's night while Martha and Mickey were out on their first date, Rose's neck itched as she ate truffles and watched a grainy video on YouTube of a recent astronomy lecture given by her favourite royal, geek-chic professor.

oOo

It was a stormy day in March when the familiar, short trumpet flair sounded announcing a news bulletin was imminent. “The GBC interrupts the current programming to bring you Prime Minister Harriet Jones who will be making a statement.

 _“Citizens of Gallifrey, it is with heavy heart that I bring you disturbing news."_ Harriet Jones stood straight, her face grim and drawn. _"Early this morning, Parliament passed a bill that henceforth will require the Sovereign of this great kingdom to be married before the age of thirty-five in order to ascend to, or retain the throne. “_

Members shouted questions, but Mrs. Jones raised her hands to quiet the cadre of reporters.

_"Further, the new law requires that Parliament must approve any proposed marriage of a crown prince or princess prior to their ascension to the throne, or the marriage of an already-crowned monarch. Passage of the Marriage Order must equal or exceed a fifty-one percent majority. As there are one hundred members of Parliament, of course this means 51 votes are required. Any member of Parliament who is in the line of succession to the throne must abstain from the vote."_

Cameras flashed and more questions were hollered. 

_"In a move that I believe was both devious and cowardly, a motion was made and passed to cast votes by secret ballot,”_ she shouted above the growing din demanding to know the legality of the vote. _" And while this is perfectly legal within the ways and means of Parliamentary rules of order, secret balloting has only taken place four times in the last one hundred years, and in each instance these secret votes were conducted during wartime, and the need for secrecy was imperative and a matter of national security.”_

Prime Minister Jones cleared her throat, and drew in few a few measured breaths. This time, the crowd was quiet.

_“Perhaps most disturbing, the bill was written and submitted for vote by Prince John's own cousin, Duke Harold Saxon, Earl of Oakdown. The Duke is next in line for the throne behind Prince John, whom I must remind all of you, is thirty-four years old. He will turn thirty-five on January 30 of next year. In fairness and full disclosure, Duke Saxon did abstain from the vote, however, I will be formally requesting a legal review given the obvious conflict of interest, as well as encouraging opponents to take action to repeal this new law._

_"Parliament has grossly overstepped its bounds, and I, both as a citizen and as Prime Minister, am soundly and most assuredly in disagreement with the decision to toss aside hundreds of years of tradition and common sense. The stability of the Kingdom of Gallifrey depends upon Parliament and the Crown working in balance, working together, as a united force for good and the common welfare of the people. I will not be taking questions. Good day, ladies and gentlemen.”_ Prime Minister Jones halted before she returned to the microphone. _"Actually, I do have something else to say,_ " she said quietly. _"Scientifically conducted public opinion polls have repeatedly shown that ninety-five percent of the citizens of the Kingdom of Gallifrey support the future rule of our beloved Prince John. He has proven himself to be brilliant, caring, responsive to the needs of his subjects, and desperately protective of our precious country. I can state with all certainty that the King and Queen wholeheartedly endorse his ability to rule and have given their full approval. So too should we, as nation, have that same confidence that our future King is the rightful heir to the throne, whether he is married or unmarried.”_

Some within the crowd nodded and quietly voiced their agreement, even though they were members of the assumed to be impartial press.

_"The marital status of a monarch should be a private, family matter. And while many past unions have been made for strictly political expedience, it was still their prerogative to decide whom they would marry. Our royal family has been nothing but benevolent to our beloved country. They have not been tyrants, nor have they hoarded, flaunted, of squandered their wealth. Instead, they have shared their bounty, funding many of our great institutions of learning, the arts, and medicine. They have managed their inherited resources well, acting as stewards, not as those simply privileged by birth. Removing the free will of our royal family is taking away a most basic human right -- the right to love and be loved."_

Rose turned off the television and dropped into a chair. 

"Good old Harriet Jones," Amy shook her head. "Why aren't more politicians like her?"

"Suppose there'll be a royal wedding soon, 'cos I'm pretty sure that the royal family isn't going to let that Saxon rat become king." Lynda resumed her work on a funeral arrangement.

"Yeah,” Rose agreed quietly. 

Prince John did not make any more public appearances for two months. The official reason was his desire to focus his attention on teaching.

oOo 

Rose's phone chirped. “Hi Martha, I promise, I'll be home in less than an hour. I’m headed back to the shop. Just made a hospital delivery. What do you want for dinner? Gonna pop in to Tesco on the way home. I’m thinking curry—“

_“Rose, something's happened.”_

“What do you mean?”

 _“The King and Queen — Their car crashed on the way back from the northern castle.”_ Martha's voice hitched. _"They were killed._

“Prince John…” Rose breathed, quickly turning on the delivery van radio.

 _”He wasn't with them,_ Martha choked out. _"He's safe."_

“I’m coming straight home. I'll tell Amy to close up.”

Only now did Rose notice that the atmosphere felt somehow different — anxious, darker, moving in slow motion. Church bells were sounding a death toll. Shops were closed. The street was jammed with cars -- typical for this time of day — but no one was honking or cranky. 

That night, Martha and Rose wept as they listened to Crown Prince John's voice crack as he read a prepared statement.

And Rose’s neck ached with a throbbing, excruciating pain, as if she were balancing the entire planet on the crown of her head. 

King John’s coronation took place within twenty-four hours of his parents' tragic deaths. The ceremony was majestic and stately, but a pall hung over Arcadia Abbey. His eyes were puffy and red, face drawn and pale. The Archbishop’s hands shook as he held the crown above His Royal Highness’s head before slowly lowering. 

Rose and Martha huddled together on the sofa, softly crying as they watched the coronation along with the citizens of Gallifrey. 

...And that spot on the back of Rose's neck ached in tandem with her heart.


	3. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crown weighs heavily on King John's head. In an untenable position, he makes a decision that will change his life forever. What he doesn't know can't hurt him, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, everybody!

"More paper comes across my desk in a single day than is bound in all of the books in the scientific library at Queen's College." King John muttered and grumbled about wishing he was giving a lecture right now about quarks or quasars, and how Parliament was killing the forests one ream of paper at a time, and that the PM should be held personally responsible for the cramp in his hand as he scribbled his name for the umpteenth time that morning. 

The other side of the partner's desk was empty. It was the place where his mother used to sit facing his father. When he was tiny, he would lay on his belly underneath the massive piece of antique furniture, and read. He remembered the sound of their laughter, conspiratorial whispering, friendly disagreements, and heated arguments as they would sit face to face at this very desk most mornings.

"Yeah, I miss you teaching, too. You were a lot more fun when I could call you Doc." Jack Harkness, the King's Parliamentary Llaison, handed his friend yet another document. "Don't suppose you wanna go clubbing tonight? You are the best wingman in Gallifrey."

"Sure, why not. I'll wear my clubbing crown, the one with the flashing LEDs," John replied, sarcasm dripping as he shook the cramp out of his hand. "I'm glad I trust you, Jack, because I don't even know what I'm signing."

"Cottage hospital funding, authority to replace a washed-out bridge, a research grant to study the neural pathways of soulmates--"

"Soulmates." He rubbed his temples. "Maybe they'll finally figure out why I never found mine."

"It's sorta difficult to find the love of your life when you aren't actively looking."

John mumbled.

"And when was the last time you talked to your soulmate counselor?"

John didn't answer.

Jack straightened. "You need to talk to her. You will be thirty-five in less than eight months. That god-complex-cousin of yours can _not_ steal the throne. Everything that your grandparents, parents, and you have accomplished will be destroyed. He will crush this country into the ground with the heel of his five thousand quid Italian shoe! All of the peace treaties, trade agreements, funding for things that actually matter. Museums, medicine, research, children's charities, the arts, public land trusts, the environment. Everything! Gone!"

John pushed himself away from the desk with a growl. "You think I don't know he's the second coming of King Rassilon?" he shouted.

"Then call her!" Jack shouted, arms open wide.

The muscles in John's jaw rippled. "I have called, Jack. We speak every week. She keeps telling me to wait, wait, wait. That it isn't my time. That it will happen when it is supposed to happen, and not a second earlier. Not so helpful," he said, angrily.

"But she's always said _when_ , not _if_ , right?" Jack reminded him. "People say she's psychic."

"There's no such thing," John countered.

"And no one even knows how old she is. I saw an interview on GBC once with the oldest living soulmates in Gallifrey. They were a hundred and one. They said that she was _their_ soulmate counselor, _and_ the wife said she was her _grandparent's_ counselor. There are history books right in that library of yours that talk about the mystical soulmate counselor to the royal family and her _sight_."

"It's probably a secret society and the title gets passed down along with a big leather-bound book of parlour tricks."

"Even your parents talked about her frighteningly accurate predictions."

"What are you even doing poking around, learning about soulmates! That's not your job, Jack. You should be focusing on getting Parliament to repeal the marriage law!"

"You've given up, haven't you?" Jack accused. "You've given up on finding your soulmate."

John nodded and the friends sat quietly for a moment.

"In that case, it's on to Plan B, and I was saving this bit of news for when you were in a good mood, but I can't wait for that because you haven't been in a good mood since you gave up teaching."

John shot him a hurt and angry look.

"John. Look. I'm sorry. That was beyond insensitive." 

"You aren't wrong, though," John admitted.

Jack sighed. "Versaillia has sent another official request to negotiate proposals of marriage."

John ran his hand down his face.

"At least she ain't bad to look at," Jack offered, sheepishly.

"Can't disagree with you on that point. But in this case, the saying, 'beautiful isn't everything' really does apply."

"She _does_ throw a mean party," Jack added.

John side-eyed him. "We met a few years ago and she isn't the one. She's not my soulmate."

"Plenty of Gallifreyan royal marriages weren't between soulmates, and the kingdom survived."

John nodded silently.

"And for what it's worth, I'm really, really sorry you didn't find each other. But you still have time. Don't give up. So do you agree that we are going to plan for the worst, but hope for the best. Alright?"

John nodded, and then dropped back into his chair and finished scrawling his signature on document after document, and Jack stepped out of the room for a moment. He returned with a parchment roll in hand. Golden wax sealed the golden cord tied around the document. 

"Just break the seal and get it over with."

John cracked it open, pulled a rarely-used quill from its silver inkwell, and signed the official request to begin negotiations that would lead to a proposal of marriage. He lit the stick of dark blue ceremonial sealing wax stick, and dripped wax next to his signature. After he affixed a short length of looped silver cording, he left his mark. His signet ring left a perfect impression of the personal seal of King John X of Gallifrey.

oOo

It was July in all of its sultry unpleasantness and the kingdom had returned to a state of almost-normalcy. The flags were once again full staff. The official mourning period had ended, and the marriage-minded King of Gallifrey took his first official royal trip abroad -- to the kingdom of Versaillia.

And each time Rose Tyler heard him speak while touring the country, whether on the radio or television, she felt a new sensation. Her neck prickled and burned. There was a woman by his side - a beautiful, elegant, graceful woman with a centuries-old royal pedigree — the very single, marriageable, and politically advantageous Princess Jeanne Antoinette of Versaillia. And when she saw the news footage of King John speaking to _that person_ , or laughing at _that person’s_ seemingly witty remarks, or dancing with _that person_ at the grand ball, Rose thought lightning bolts just might shoot out of her flashing eyes and burn a hole in the telly.

“Look at her! She’s practically jumping his bones, almost wrapped around him. Nuzzling his neck in public, even,” Rose said through a mouthful of pizza. She dropped the slice on the paper plate on her lap.

“Yeah, well _that woman_ isn't known for her virtue is she, if you know what I mean,” Martha said disdainfully. "On the _Royals Today_ website, there were these fuzzy pictures of her in a teeny gold bikini on her royal yacht down off of some Greek island — and just _one_ week before King John arrived in her country!”

Rose set her jaw and squinted at the woman on the television.

Martha continued. “She was surrounded by a bunch of fit blokes. And they were definitely not wearing very much either, and she was snogging one of ‘em while another one was rubbing her feet.”

“The cow,” Rose said under her breath, shoving the rest of the pizza into her mouth.

oOo

"I think you're gonna need to sit down. And you'll be needing this." Martha handed her a filled-to-the-brim glass of red wine.

"What's that look on your face?" 

"I'm pretty sure you don't know what's going on, 'cos you're too calm."

"Mar, you're starting to scare me." Rose took a gulp of wine.

Martha closed her eyes. "King John and Princess Jeanne Antoinette are engaged. Parliament still has vote and approve the marriage, but--"

Rose dropped the wine glass, and her hand went to her mouth. 

It was hours before she stopped crying. She lifted her head off of Martha's lap. “I’m really tired, Mar. I think I’m gonna take a bath and go to bed.” 

She retreated to the bathroom, lit a few candles around the tub, drew her bath, and sprinkled some bath salts that promised to 'calm the mind and soothe the soul'. She secured her hair up into a messy bun and then undressed before she switched off the lights.

Rose winced and hissed as the itching suddenly surged into a sharp pain. She felt as if she were being branded by a hot iron. She twisted, trying to look over her shoulder to see the back of her neck in the mirror. 

“What…?” she whispered as she saw a shimmery, pearlescent mark coalescing at the base of her hairline, capturing the candlelight. Rose lunged for the light switch and grabbed a hand-mirror. She screamed silently at the sight: a detailed and immediately recognizable symbol was emblazoned on her fair skin.

Rose Tyler bore the royal seal of the King of Gallifrey.


	4. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose seeks help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wee bit of naughty girl talk -- but still Teen.

Rose stopped wearing her hair up. She stopped mentioning the itching to Martha. If she heard his voice on the radio or television, she slapped the off-button -- but only for a while, because she _had_ to hear his voice. It was as necessary as oxygen. His voice warmed her heart even though her soul ached. She _tried_ to stop thinking about King John — her _soulmate_ — but that was proving to be impossible, and keeping the secret was exhausting. 

It had been one week since the soulmark had sealed the rest of her life. _Saturday Night Project_ was re-broadcasting an older episode that featured a visit from _Prince_ John. At one point he was reclining on a fuzzy rug, a come-hither look on his face as he answered the hosts' questions. His answers were just-this-side-of-naughty, and his grin was absolutely wicked.

"Why am I torturing myself?” The audience laughed hysterically while Rose wept into her hands.

She _had_ to talk to _someone_ about her pain, so she bundled herself in the safety of her favourite blanket and picked up her mobile. 

The Soulmate Helpline was a government programme, part of National Health. Bored while waiting for a strep test a few years back, she'd picked up and perused an informational pamphlet from the rack at her GP. She didn't remember much about it. But she couldn't miss the adverts in Tube stations -- big cheerful posters with smiling faces gleaming. Posters on the red buses that crowded the streets of the city with romantic words of joy and hope. But nowhere had she ever seen anything about help for the unmated half of a soul-mated pair.

It was time. She needed _help_ if she was going to have to live with this for the rest of her life. Surely she couldn't be the only one that had gone through this. So she googled the number for the Soulmate Helpline, clicked the link, and tapped green circle on the screen of her mobile.

“Hello! I'm Idris! Who are you?" 

Rose paused for a moment. "Is this being recorded or anything? Like calling 999?"

"No! That would be an invasion of your privacy! And mine, too. But I am compelled by law to tell you that I can see your telephone number, but I can't see your name. 

She paused for a moment. "My name is Rose.”

"That's a lovely name. I'm so glad I won't have to call you Anonymous,” Idris enthused. “But then again, how I _do_ like giving names. I might give you a name anyway. But I'll need to find out more about you if I'm going to give you a properly appropriate name. We are going to become good friends after all. So let's sit down and have a friendly chat over a cuppa. I'm in my lovely sunroom surrounded by palms and exotic flowers. So of course I'm wearing a simply elegant white chiffon day dress and I do believe you are probably wearing... carnation pink ruffles, white gloves, and white kid slippers."

Rose quietly laughed, wondering why this odd Idris person was telling her about her outfit. "Well, being as it's almost midnight, I'm in my flannel jimjams wrapped up in my gran's rag quilt."

"My clock must be slow. I thought it was Friday afternoon."

"Noooooo," Rose said, confused. "It's Saturday, well Sunday just after midnight now. So you're not here in Gallifrey, then?"

"Oh, I am," she said blithely. 

Rose heard an odd sound like heaving and groaning. "You alright?"

"Of course I am. There. More comfortable now that I've changed into lovely ruffled pink pyjamas of the finest silk, wrapped up in a satin coverlet. And I'm reclining on a tufted, white velvet settee in my boudoir."

Rose rolled her eyes, but smiled, somehow feeling put at ease by the strange woman's ramblings. Probably a counselling trick, she decided.

"So tell me about yourself, and then we'll talk about him. What is his name? Oh wait! I want to hear about you first. Tell me about you. Unless you would like to talk about him," she said, jumping from thought to thought.

Rose cleared her throat. "I own a flower shop. I'm a florist. Nothing posh. But it's nice and cheerful. I'm happy when I'm there. I enjoy the work, have great people who work for me. We go to the pub after work, hang out together. Have other friends from outside of work, too."

"And your family? What about your mother and father? Or grandparents? Siblings? Uncles, aunts, cousins?"

"Nope. There's just me."

“Oh, I’m so sorry. But it is wonderful that you have friends. Everyone needs friends. But your soulmate will be your very _best_ friend! Or he already might be. So tell me about him.”

Suddenly, Rose felt panic overwhelming her. "I have a soulmark. But it's impossible for us to be together and I’m not sure what to do, because I love him, and he doesn’t even know I exist,” she said, words flooding from her mouth.

"Why do you say you can't be together? And how do you know he doesn't know who you are?"

“I'm serious, we _can't_ be together, and I'm _positive_ he doesn't know. And I really don’t have a way to get in touch with him, either.”

“Oh, you naughty girl! Was this one of those — what do you youngsters call it these days? A hooking? No, that’s not right. A hangup? Oh! Hooking up! That’s it.”

“No! We didn’t hook up," Rose answered defensively.

“What’s his name?”

She cleared her throat. "His first name is John, but I'm not gonna say anything more." She paused. "He’s famous.”

“Oh! How exciting! Did you meet at a film premiere in Cannes? Were you watching him come down the red carpet? Did he pull you from the crowd and drag you into his villa overlooking the Mediterranean? Spin you into a waltz under the crystal chandeliers or in the starlight on a balcony high above the sea? Oh, how the sparks did fly! Was there kissing? It’s always so exciting when it starts with kissing.”

“No. No kissing. I’ve never actually even met him. Never spoken to him, or touched him. Certainly never smelled or tasted him, 'cos I know those are things. I've only seen him and heard him, and yeah, shook his hand once."

The woman on the other end of the line was quiet for a moment. “Tell me what happened, dearest,“ she asked softly. 

Rose sighed heavily. “Well, I’ve always had a _thing_ for him. Like I said, he's really well known. Even when I was just a kid, he was special. And I know it sounds daft, but I _loved_ him, even before the mark appeared. I truly, down deep _loved_ him. Of course, my friends think I’m mental. They just call it my celebrity crush, tell me over and over that I'm a fangirl. They'd never believe me if I told them about the soulmark. I've been hiding it."

“Does anyone else know?”

“No. No one."

“You need to tell someone. You shouldn't carry this burden alone, especially since he doesn't know."

"Aren't you supposed to be that person?"

"You need someone who can give you a hug or hold your hand or wipe away your tears. I can help you, but I can't be _with_ you."

"Well, there is Martha, my flatmate. She's a great friend, and I do trust her."

"Then why haven't you told her?" Idris asked.

"I'm afraid, I suppose." Rose sighed. 

"Oh, don't be afraid! When you are blessed with a soulmate, there is never a reason to be afraid. So what do _you_ think caused the mark to first appear?”

Rose cleared her throat trying to think of a vague way to describe the moment. “I saw him in person — but it wasn’t the first time. I’d seen him in person lots of times before. We shook hands, he thanked me for coming, and I talked to him, too. But that was literally like five seconds if that. And then after the… _event_ , my neck started itching. Thought I'd been bitten by a mosquito. But that night, my neck started itching something fierce. Martha, she’s a medical student, even she couldn’t figure out what it was. And then it went away until the next time I saw him on telly. And then it happened when I heard him talking on the radio. And on and on. And each time, it got more and more itchy or achy. He’d stop talking, the irritation would stop, and the mark would fade.”

“Well there we are! Mystery solved. You're an Auditory! Simply hearing the voice of your beloved triggered your soulmark! That doesn’t happen often. Not often at all. Only one in thousand people find their soulmate, and of those, only one in a thousand are Auditory. You are special indeed! Very special. Oh! Wolves have excellent hearing. They can hear as far as six miles away in the forest and ten miles in the open. I'm going to call you Bad Wolf."

"Uh... okay. But I'm not really bad."

"Oh! But yes you are. You are being very naughty. You won't tell me his name, and you are keeping this a secret from those you love and who love you, and you should be doing anything and everything you can to meet him."

Rose cleared her throat, needing to change the subject. "So I didn’t have to actually meet him then? In person? And why now? Why not all along? I’d heard him loads of times before, considering he's famous and that.”

“Soulmarks show up only when one's heart and soul are ready. Was your attention required elsewhere? Did you have stress in your life before? Overwhelmed with school or a job?”

“Yeah." Rose sighed. "My dad died when I was a baby, so I didn't know him. Mum kept the business going. And then she died when I was twenty, and I had to support myself somehow, and I inherited the shop."

"Oh, I’m so sorry, Bad Wolf Girl."

"How old were you when you thought you'd been bitten by the mosquito?"

"About a year ago. I was twenty-four, and I'm twenty-five now."

"So it's been several years since your Mum died."

"Yeah. It was really hard being so young and not knowing what I was doing at first. But now I love it. Helping people celebrate, comforting them. It's a good life. Well, except for the huge gaping hole in my heart and excruciating mark on my neck."

“But it sounds like you were at peace at the time?”

“I think so, yeah. I miss her of course.”

“You always will. But you have flowers! And friends! And a best friend who is your flatmate. Her friendship probably helped prepare you to find the love of your life.”

“But that’s just it! My heart may have been ready, but now that I know we literally can _not_ be together, I'm... I'm beside myself! I will never meet him, let alone _be_ with him, it is impossible!” she wailed.

“What makes you think that, Bad Wolf Girl?”

“I’m not being dramatic. He is _literally_ unavailable to me. And why didn't he get a soul mark when we met? He's on the telly almost every day and you can see his neck plain as day, and there's nothing there." 

"I understand. But don't read too much into that. It simply means his soul sense didn’t recognise you. So tell me again about the meeting."

"Like I said, we shook hands and he talked to me. Just a quick hello, nice to meet you sort of thing. I answered him, too."

"Let's see. Hearing, touching, seeing, maybe smelling --"

"I hope he didn't smell me! That would be so embarrassing! I take a shower every day!"

Idris laughed. "Probably not smelling, because that soul sense usually happens when the couple is intimate. Pheromones."

"Oh. Right." Rose cleared her throat.

"It's taste. Or his soul wasn't quite ready."

Rose swallowed hard, and managed a thin, "Okay."

“Too bad there wasn’t kissing! Oh, if only there’d been kissing. Because his soulsense wasn't engaged, he didn't connect with yours, and you couldn't send him your mark. He has to _accept_ it. So the development of your mark slowed.

"Now, had his soul found yours, viola! It would've been there right there and then, and you wouldn't have been able to keep your hands off of each other, you'd feel like you'd known each other forever. You would feel complete. You'd know _each other inside and out."_

Rose bit her lip and nodded. "Sounds like a fairy tale."

"And so much better, because it is real. Now do you understand, Wolf? You don't have a choice. You _must_ find him, or you will suffer like this for the rest of your life. When one has not paired with their soulmate, it is very painful. And to ease your mind, the other half of your heart -- _him_ \-- he will never know. Don't worry, he won't suffer pain."

"I'm glad. I love him, and I would never want him to be in pain."

"But hold on. While he won't suffer physical pain, his soul _will_ know on a subconscious level. He did send you his mark after all, even though his mind didn't know. His heart did. His soul recognised the person with whom he was perfectly compatible. The person whom he will love wholly. So he will always have a nagging in his heart that he hasn't found you. He will be sad, restless, melancholy. Now you certainly don't want that to be his fate, do you?"

"Of course not! But you don't understand! He is about to be married, and there is more at stake than my happiness. Everyone will suffer if he doesn't marry."

"Hmm. That's mysterious. Perhaps his heart won't let him go through with it."

"But hold on," Rose halted. "Everyone says you can see the future, and all of the stories about you say you're practically psychic. How come you don't know who he is, then?"

“Who told you that rubbish? I can’t see the future! Well, that’s not completely true, I _do_ see the future. And the past. I see it all the time. In fact, am I in the future right now? or the past? I can’t tell. It’s so confusing."

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Rose, my dear Bad Wolf. Some things have to happen on their own. And I have a very good feeling about you," Idris said, undaunted. "I know you can do it. Wolves mate for life. Wolves are brave and intelligent and fierce and beautiful! Now are you going to tell me who he is? Or am I going to have to guess? I do like a good guessing game."

“I can’t tell you. Not yet. But I will tell my friend, Martha. Eventually." Rose hung up.

oOo 

Rose's mobile chirped, and the name on screen was _Idris._

"I still think it is weird that you can't block that person," said Martha. "Whoever that Idris person is has called you twice a day, everyday at noon and midnight, for days now. And texted you about a hundred times. It's a bloody nuisance. And rude, too! Who calls at midnight! Maybe they're the government or something. Do you have back taxes due?"

"No!" Rose snapped.

"Oi! Don't bark at me, sister."

"She's a person, and I've told her to stop calling me, but she won't, and I don't want to talk about it."

"Well, I think you better talk about whatever _it_ is, because you're driving me crazy! I might move out."

"What! NO! Please don't move out!" Rose begged.

Martha crossed her arms. "I am seriously ready to throttle you."

Rose sniffed and looked away.

"Why won't you tell me what is going on? A whole week of this Idris person calling. And don't think I haven't noticed your chocolate consumption has dramatically increased. The only time you smile or laugh is at the shop when you’re with a customer. When you’re in the back room, you’re sad and weepy.”

"She's my soulmate counselor, alright? Satisfied?!" Rose threw her arms up in the air, and then dropped onto the sofa, blank-faced.

"Soulmate counselor? What do you mean?"

"Idris is my soulmate counselor. That itchy patch on my neck, it's a soulmark. The thing finally appeared a few weeks ago. It took almost a year to show up."

"But you and Mickey broke up ages ago. You better not tell me you and him have been seeing each other behind my back!"

Rose glared at Martha. "Do you really think either of us would do that to you? He is _mad_ for you, Martha Jones, and you are my best, best friend. And so is he. I would never hurt you that way!"

"I'm sorry," Martha replied sheepishly. 

The women were quiet for a moment.

"Have you been seeing someone in secret?"

Rose shook her head.

"Yeah. Probably not even possible considering you practically live at your shop."

Rose folded over and hid her face in her hands.

" _Please_ tell me who he is."

Rose squeezed her eyes shut, and then sat up. "Go on, take a look at it." Rose turned away from Martha and lifted her hair off of her neck.

Silence. 

"Is that what I think it is?" Martha asked, breathless.

"Depends on what you _think_ it is."

"That's King John's royal seal."

"Yes."

"But that's impossible! How? I mean... you've never met him! Except for that one handshake and hello, and the that hardly counts."

Rose barked a watery laugh. "It was his voice. The sound of his voice was enough. Idris told me that some people don't have to meet in person. I'm an Auditory."

"Oh, that's rare."

"One in a gazillion, that's me." She shrugged one shoulder. 

Martha pulled her friend into a comforting hug. "Oh sweetheart. I wish you'd told me. So it started on the day of the statue dedication, right?"

"It finally appeared the day the engagement was announced, and hasn't gone away since."

"So it started when you heard him in person," Martha mused. "But what about all those times before that you and me went to see him or heard him on telly?"

Rose pulled away and tugged a tissue from the box, wiped her eyes, and then blew her nose. "Idris said I wasn't ready before. That I was finally happy and content with my life. It was just my time."

"So all those times watching him on telly, listening on the radio, when your neck would itch. That was the mark. How did neither of us make the connection?"

Rose shook her head. "'Cos never in a million years could I even imagine that I was the King of Gallifrey's soulmate. Would you have ever thought that?"

“I suppose not.” She smiled. “But… wow.“ Martha half smiled. 

"Now you know why I've stopped putting my hair up. Wasn't being lazy." Rose laughed through her tears.

"Lemme look at it again. It really is incredible," Martha breathed. "Never seen such a beautiful mark before. We studied 'em during both psych and neuro rotations."

What kinds of marks are there?" Rose asked.

"All kinds. Thing is, scientists don't really know how they happen even. The current theory is that people who find their soulmate have different brain pathways. That they have telepathic abilities. So when they meet, there's a telepathic connection based upon their soul sense. So it isn't something mystical or destiny or whatever. They subconsciously send something that is meaningful to their mate. Can't prove it though. Don't have the tech yet. It makes sense, really."

"Yeah, it does." Rose mused.

"So he sent his royal seal because he found his Queen," Martha said breathily, almost reverent. "I suppose I should start calling you Your Royal Highness.

"Don't you _dare_ , Martha Jones."

"You bet I will. Often, and with great deference." Martha bowed, hands clasped in worship.

Rose slugged her friend on the arm. "Idris figures his soul sense is either taste or smell, and since we haven't kissed or, well, you know," she blushed.

"Shagged?" Martha burst out laughing.

Rose bit her lower, sighed, and dropped her head against the back of the sofa. "Yeah..."

Martha got a wicked look on her face. "How great would _that_ be? Tugging that hair of his. Bet he's a talker with that gob of his." She half smiled. "And you know what else? Idris said his soulsense was either smell or... _taste_."

Rose threw a small cushion at Martha.

"Wonder how you'd mark him," Martha said after a short pause. 

"Probably something to do with hair. Barber shears maybe? OH! Shampoo bottle!"

"You definitely have a thing for that hair. Rose...? What's got you blushing so hard?"

Rose gazed away for a moment, a dreamy look on her face. "It's gotta be said. That great hair and a soulsense of taste? Now that's a _really great_ combination,” she growled, eyes closed.

"Rose Tyler! You are a very naughty girl!"

Rose groaned and threw her head back. "Just kill me now. Death by sexual frustration."

The ladies fell against each other, laughing until tears streamed down their faces, punctuating their laughter with other ideas. A chocolate truffle (in honour of his eyes and voice); lips (self explanatory)... BOXER BRIEFS followed by a growl.

"Speaking of his hair, so you're never gonna wear your hair up again?"

"No. No way."

"But seriously, Rose, what are you gonna do? Is there any way to get word to the palace? Like have you talked to someone at the palace about it?"

She held an imaginary telephone to her ear. "Hello Palace? This is Rose Tyler. I'm the King's soulmate. Can I come 'round for tea?"

Martha snorted. "Yeah, the palace receptionist's number is probably unlisted. Not sure I'd know who to call if I were in your very, very lucky shoes." Martha gasped. "Idris! I bet she knows! She's probably had to deal with stuff like this before. She'd know!"

"No."

"And why not?"

"I'm not... I'm just a... Martha, I own a shop. What business do I have being married to the King?" Her voice trailed off.

"Oh no you don't, Rose Tyler. Don't you dare tell me you aren't good enough."

"I didn't say that."

"But you're thinking it."

Rose frowned and Martha glared.

"Honestly, I'm not saying that. I just mean we are from different worlds. I haven't been raised to know how to deal with royal stuff. Like visits from heads of state, making big decisions..."

"You know, there is something else. You aren't being fair to _him_. He's the other half of this. You're denying his chance at happiness too. Doesn't he deserve to know?" Martha paused. "Maybe he's hiding the mark? Like with really good makeup or something?"

"If he had a mark, he'd probably be sending out a messenger with the soulmark equivalent of a glass slipper. So obviously, he doesn't know. Or he doesn't care. And what he doesn't know can't hurt him. It's not like most people are soulmated anyway. Probably hasn't thought twice about it. No wonder he agreed to the arranged marriage with _that woman_. Probably been engaged since birth." She paused and balled her fists, clenched her jaw, and silently screamed.

"Calm down, Rose. You're gonna have a stroke."

"I'm not gonna have a stroke."

"Still isn't right."

"Can we stop talking about this?" Rose asked quietly, folding in on herself.

"Sure. And I'm not moving out. Wouldn't dream of it. Well, not until you get married and you hire me to be your royal obstetrician and move me into the palace. Because you _know_ the two of you are gonna be shagging all the time, everywhere, and driving everyone mad."

Rose shot her an indignant look that grew into something heated. "You bet we would."

"You. Are. A. Very. Very. Lucky. Woman. Your Royal Highness."

Rose and Martha sighed, and then Rose shook her head. "Sorta mental, innit?"

"No. It's magical." Martha pulled her best friend into her side and Rose rested her head on her friends shoulder. "Fancy going out to lunch? My treat."

"Chips?"

"Chips. Double order. With extra salt. And milkshakes."


	5. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martha interferes, Rose is visited by a representative from the palace, and for the first time since her mark appeared, she sees the King.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big time jump in this chapter: we go from August to December, but I don't think anyone will mind. {{wink wink}}

_“His Royal Highness King John and Princess Jeanne Antoinette of Versaillia are to be married on December the first to satisfy the Royal Marriage Act, which stipulates that the monarch must marry prior to his thirty-fifth birthday, which is on January the thirtieth.”_ Prime Minister Jones' face was tight as she gave the official statement from the steps of the PM’s residence. 

_"Today, Parliament ratified the official proposals of marriage by a fifty-two percent majority, sufficient per the fifty-one percent majority required by the Act."_ PM Jones drew in a shaky breath. _"The vote was conducted by secret ballot. I have no further statement about the upcoming wedding."_ She retreated inside of the residence.

_"And that, of course, was Prime Minister Harriet Jones giving an official statement regarding the previously-announced engagement of His Royal Highness King John to Princess Jeanne Antoinette of Versaillia. It is now known that the marriage negotiations took place whilst His Royal Highness conducted the official visit to Versallia, just weeks ago, and one month after he ascended the throne. An anonymous source inside of palace indicates that the King is unhappy about the arrangement, but believes it is his royal duty."_

News footage of the pair ambling through a formal garden aired. He had his hands behind his back, and she stood straight and tall. The pair were the picture of elegance and grace. However, he was not smiling.

 _”The gardens are beautiful. Very lovely. I’m quite impressed to learn that the Princess herself designed the gardens, and even gets her hands dirty from time to time,”_ said the King casually to a reporter as they ambled.

"Oh they're dirty alright." Rose’s neck ached. Her vision blurred, and she blindly searched around her for the remote. Unable to find it, she lunged for the telly and slapped the power button. The screen turned black, and she collapsed back onto the sofa, face in her hands. “My neck. It’s killing me," Rose whispered, rubbing her temples. "And I feel like my brain is burning from the inside out.”

Martha prepared a cool compress and draped it over her friend's neck.

"I'm so sorry, Rose. But I'm not ready to give up on you and him. We are going to figure this out together. And now you're getting headaches. You can't keep going on like this."

"But what am I supposed to do?" Rose whimpered.

"Call. The. Palace!" Martha said, quietly firm.

"Hello, I'm Rose Tyler, the King's Soulmate. 'Can I come 'round for tea?'. That's a one way ticket to the nowhere."

Martha rolled her eyes.

oOo

"If Rose won't call, **I** will." 

Martha did call, and did get a live person when she selected catch-all option five.

"Hi, I've been calling and calling trying to get in touch with someone... anyone live. I am so glad you answered. My best friend, she's the King's soulmate. She's got his royal seal on her neck and--" 

"I'm so sorry, ma'am, I am unable to pass along this information as we receive hundreds of calls a week reporting soulmarks."

"But I promise! I'm not lying! I could send a picture. She's talked to a soulmate counselor even. And--"

"Ma'am," the man sighed heavily. "Do you know how many phone calls a week from people saying, "I'm the King's soulmate!"? Hundreds. And the numbers have, of course, increased exponentially since the... engagement. I apologise, but I am unable to pass your message along. Have a good day."

Martha sent a letter, and enclosed a photograph of Rose's neck that she'd secretly taken while Her friend was sleeping. It went unanswered.

oOo

"Soulmate Helpline, this is Idris, how can I help?"

"Uh, right. Um, I don't have a mark, but my best friend does, and she won't do anything about it because she is frightened. And she's miserable. I don't know what to do."

"What's your name, dear friend?"

"Martha. But it's a pretty complex situation, and she would absolutely murder me if she knew I was calling you."

"I think I will call you Stella."

"But my name's Martha."

"Stella is such a pretty name, don't you think? It means star, and you are a star for coming to your friend's aid."

Martha drew in a deep breath. "Alrighty then. Stella it is. But first, you have to promise you will _not_ tell her that I called."

"How could I tell her? She won't return my phone calls, and texting would break confidentially rules. You might see the text message!"

"So who's your friend? What is her name?"

My friend's name is Rose--"

"Rose? ROSE! My Bad Wolf Girl! And you are _her_ Martha! Stella, Rose Tyler has been a very bad, very naughty not good Bad Wolf Girl. She hasn't answered any of my calls, and she sent me several very rude texts telling me to stop. _Stop stop stop stop stop_ I believe she said in the last one."

"Yeah, well... I'll just come out and say it. Rose Tyler -- she's King John's soulmate. She's got his royal seal on her neck." 

Martha heard clapping.

"Goodbye, Jeannetoinette! Hello, Rose! My dearest boy has been granted his heart's desire! And he won't have to marry that shrew. Did I say that out loud? I did! I am so glad I did. Leave everything to me, Stella!"

oOo

Poll after poll showed that the citizens of Gallifrey did _not_ like _that woman_. In the tabloids, the couple became Meanie Jeannie and King John the Joyless.

The Princess had a reputation for both stringing men along and conducting secret liaisons with powerful men. She hosted wild and lavish parties at the summer palace on the Versaillian Riviera.

But the merger of the two families was a political checkmate, and the citizens of Gallifrey knew that their King _must_ marry. The general consensus was that she was feeling enormous pressure from her father the King of Versaillia -- according to the tabloids -- to act like a royal, give up the Mediterranean cruises and lascivious behavior, and to do her part to firm-up this alliance with King John’s small, but venerable and strategically important nation.

The details of the wedding "gala" were negotiated like a trade agreement, and it was officially agreed upon that the Kingdom of Versaillia would foot the bill, and Princess Jeanne Antoinette would have complete creative control. 

...But there was another condition. All of the purveyors -- the caterer, baker, florist, stationer -- any provider of services -- would be chosen by the Gallifreyan wedding team, headed by Mr. Ianto Jones, Keeper of Royal Protocol. And he had a plan. Well, he'd received an anonymous letter with the suggestion that he knew was brilliant. Instead of employing purveyors of services which possessed a Royal Warrant, a search would be conducted to find the best of the best from the "everyday" people of the Kingdom of Gallifrey. So a call for nominations was announced.

A caterer who normally worked from within her home, from the easternmost edge of the kingdom, would oversee both the wedding luncheon, and the formal evening banquet. 

The baker was the owner of a fourth generation shop up in an industrial city in the north. 

The confectioner was from tiny a village with cobblestone streets and rows of stone houses. 

The orchestra for the ball was comprised of amateurs - ranging in age from fifteen to eighty-four - who had auditioned.

And as for the flowers, The Wolf and Rose, that little shop in the southeast side of the royal city, was chosen.

Rose Tyler's little shop had been nominated by a woman named Sirdi Sidrat.

oOo

It was the first day of September, a rare sunny day. Rose had just begun to assemble a birthday bouquet (cheerful pink, yellow, and orange gerbera daisies) in a vase for delivery a little later that morning.

“Rose!” Lynda hollered from the shop floor. “Get out here! Quick!”

“Just a mo — I’ve gotta get these gerberas in water or they’re gonna wilt.”

“Sod the daisies, Rose,” Amy yelled and then screamed like a tween girl at a One Direction concert.

Had Rose Tyler known who was outside of her door, what was about to happen to change her life forever, Rose would’ve put on a clean apron, brushed out her messy hair, worn jeans that weren’t ripped at the knee, and she definitely would’ve cleaned that bright orange stargazer lily pollen stain from her cheek. Truthfully, she wouldn't have shown up for work. She'd have closed the shop and hidden in a cupboard in her flat.

Rose peeked through the sunny, yellow curtain that separated the workroom from the front of the shop. She dropped her shears.

“Is a Ms. Rose Tyler available?” asked an impeccably dressed man.

“I’m here. Yeah. I’m… I’m here. I'm Rose Tyler."

“I’m Ianto Jones, Keeper of Royal Protocol and liaison to the Versaillian wedding coordinator for the upcoming nuptials of King John X and Princess Jeanne Antoinette of Versaillia.”

A royal courier dressed in midnight blue livery stepped forward and bowed slightly, holding out a silver tray. On it, a plain, cream-coloured envelope lay. It was addressed to Ms. Rose Tyler, Proprietor, The Wolf and Rose.

She cleared her throat and with fumbling fingers that failed a few times, picked it up. Only then did she notice that a GBC television news team was in the shop. She swallowed hard, straightened her back, and then slid her finger under the flap, cracking open the official blue wax seal.

“My shop. I’ve been chosen? To do the flowers? For the wedding? But I don’t understand.”

Mr. Jones smiled, and shook her hand. “Congratulations. You were chosen for your exquisite, original designs. Your shop has been in service to this community for over seventy-five years, and you deserve the recognition that will come along with your appointment. The nomination submission included photos of your work. You were described as kind, friendly, hard working, and cheerful. Several orders were placed incognito, in person, via your online ordering service, and via telephone. Each order was executed perfectly, and delivered in a timely fashion."

And then a microphone was pushed into her face. 

“How does it feel to be selected to be the official purveyor of flowers for the royal wedding?” asked the perfectly groomed woman.

“Don’t know what to say. Seems sorta… unreal?” Rose answered.

“Are you nervous?”

“Ya think? I’m _terrified_.” Rose laughed nervously.

The reported laughed. "I would be too! I have to say, your shop is charming, but quite small. Do you think you will be able to handle such an enormous and important task?”

For the first time ever since her mark came to life, she felt a comforting flush of warmth instead of pain. A warm smile blossomed. “Yeah. I can handle it. I’m the third generation of Tylers to own this shop. My grandparents and parents taught me well.”

“I like your confidence, Ms. Tyler. I do believe you’re right. You wouldn’t have been chosen otherwise. Do you have any idea who nominated your shop?"

"No. None. I didn't even know we'd been nominated."

"And do you have an opinion on His Royal Highness’s choice of bride?”

To that question, Rose didn’t have a truthful answer that was suitable outside of her private thoughts, so she carefully pondered her answer before she spoke. “King John,” she smiled as best as she could, "His Royal Highness deserves every bit of happiness he can get, and I hope his marriage will make him very happy.”

“Very well said, Ms. Tyler, and congratulations. And now back to you, Lisa.” She handed her microphone to the sound crew. “Load up everyone. Let's head over to the zoo now. That new wolf that was left at the gates to last week was sprung from her enclosure."

Rose gulped. "That's a bit frightening. The zoo's not too far from here."

"Scary, isn't it? But she's old and the keepers have assured us that she's quite docile. But you never know. She's still a wild animal out of her habitat. Of course the place is on lockdown. Some woman in a tattered ball gown let her out. Why would someone do that?"

oOo

A few days later, a representative of the Versailliant wedding coordinator contacted Rose and arranged for their first consultation, which was followed by a series of meetings and FaceTime calls with the bride's representatives. 

“The Princess is pleased that you understand the elegant and exquisite aesthetic of her wedding celebration.”

"I am..." Rose blinked hard, "I'm pleased that she approves of my designs."

oOo

It was four forty-five in the morning. The day of the ‘elegant and exquisite’ wedding arrived. The formal procession through the streets of the royal city would begin promptly at noon, with an arrival at Arcadia Abbey on the palace grounds at two o’clock. The flowers that dressed the royal carriage and horses had been delivered overnight, as had the 1,000-plus arrangements that would adorn the abbey, dining hall, and ballroom. 

The army of skilled florists necessary to complete the enormous task had been overseen by Rose's trusted employees. 

Of course, Rose was in charge of the most important pieces -- the bride's bouquet, the groom's boutonniere, and the grandest arrangements that would grace the altar and the head banquet table.

“Pass that last box of gardenias, would ya, Micks?”

“Here.”

"She _would_ pick the fiddliest flower in existence," Rose grumped, and then yawned. With shaking fingertips, she picked up a single, stemless blossom that was cradled in its protective holder, and then fashioned a stem out of floral wire and tape. She yawned widely.

"As soon as you finish up, go and get a few hours sleep. I'll load up before we have to leave for the palace.” 

"Can't. Don't have time. It's already five, and I have to run home, take a shower and get dressed, and be back at the palace before seven."

“You shouldn’t have sent everyone home, Rose. Amy and Lynda coulda helped with painting the gold stuff on these stinky white ones for Madame's bouquet."

“They aren't stinky. They're highly perfumed. And they weren’t helping, what with their crying and moaning and groaning and whinging over the wedding.” She tried to cover her pain with blithe, silly comments, but they were about as useful as a band-aid after an amputation.

“And you were moaning right along with ‘em, Babe.”

“Yeah, well, aren’t all of us _commoners_ supposed to be in love with our King? I think it’s sort of a rule.” She pasted on a well-practiced, but mirthless smile.

“Yeah, I get that he’s Prince Charming--"

"King Charming," she corrected.

"Whatever. He dresses all posh, he’s rich and powerful, but he’s also a skinny beanpole with hedgehog hair and—“

“And an actual hero — remember that time he saved the baby in the pram when that piano almost fell on him?”

“That was a stroke of luck. Showboating if you ask me.”

“And he’s intelligent and funny. Seems kind, too. Like he really cares about us, yeah? Besides, what other royals do you know that actually work for a living outside of the palace? As a professor, no less. Well, _was_ a professor. I’d always had this dream of taking his class at Uni, even though I’ll never go to university now.” She sighed for the thousandth time that day and shrugged a shoulder. "

“I’m sorry you had to leave school to take over the shop when your Mum—”

“I know it’s daft,” she interrupted, “but I always had this dream,” her voice hitched, “that he’d marry a non-royal, ya know? He always seemed to be more like one of _us_ than one of _them_.”

Mickey put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her into his side. She rested her head on his shoulder. “That was never gonna happen. He’s a royal, Rose. Of course he married one of _them._ And it _is_ sorta mental to be in love with someone you’ve never met.” 

“I know, right?" Rose laughed, successfully fighting tears. She’d had months of practice at lying. "Queen fangirl of the King John fan club, that's me."

“Weird, yeah, but not impossible. I really think you’re in love with the idiot.”

"Don't talk about your sovereign that way. They might throw you into the Tower." Rose bumped Mickey's shoulder.

She paused for a moment to focus her attention on her delicate work. “Get me a cuppa and a croissant or something to eat, would ya? The bakery next-door just opened.” With a deft touch, she applied gold leaf to the edge of each gardenia petal.

“Sure.” Mickey kissed her on the cheek before he left.

As soon as her oldest friend was gone, she let the mask slip, allowing a few tears to slide down her cheeks. 

oOo

King John was sprawled out on a sofa in his private apartments. A cheap plastic crown from a fast food chain was askew on top of his head, and he was grasping a tall, square-edged bottle. Both were remnants from his bachelor party/wake the night before, which had consisted of billiards, unhealthy food, poker, cigars, Scotch, and never-ending whinging about the marriage to Jack, Donna, and Jake Simmonds, his personal bodyguard. Donna was the one who'd given him the plastic crown.

“‘M _not_ drunk.”

“You’re pissed,” Jack accused.

“Oi! Thou shalt not speak to _Us_ using such course language. _We_ are your _Sovereign._ ”

“Pulling out the Royal We. Nice. And you’re not my sovereign as I’m not a citizen of your country. Though I wouldn’t mind being your _servant_.” He winked flirtatiously.

“Jack…” John warned his best friend. “As long as I’m drunk, I don’t have to marry _that woman_. I can’t make vows that I don’t know I’m making. No drunk vows allowed. Not proper to be drunk in church either. That’d be the height of rudeness. But then again, I am rude. But the drunkenness reasoning still stands.” The King knocked back another swig.

Jack just shook his head. “Well, I can sorta see your logic, but you still have a whole day to sober up.”

“Oh, would you look at this!” He beamed. “Another bottle! This one's called Hypervodka. Sounds promising.”

Jack grabbed the bottle from John. "I'm cutting you off. Go take a shower. Now. A cold one. And drink the damn coffee on that tray over there. And eat one of those bananas you’re always talking about. And for the record, I’m _sorry_ you have to marry _that woman_. I know you don’t want to. And it _royally_ sucks.”

John raised an eyebrow at his friend, and then sat up. With elbows on knees, he rested his head in his hands. “Yeah……” he drawled. “It _does_ royally suck."

"You could always take an official mistress. There is plenty of historic precedence. She could be your ‘real’ wife,” he air quoted, “if… no _when_ you find your soulmate, Doc. Idris did promise, you know."

“Idris, who you said is _never_ supposed to be wrong, promised me it would happen." He paused. “Supposed to run in families. Looks like I got the short end of the stick. Wait, wait, waitity-wait, wait Idris said. Well I waited!" He sprung from his spot and began to pace nervously in front of the tall window overlooking the gardens. John grabbed the bottle out of Jack's hand, and knocked back a gulp.

Jack nodded sympathetically. 

“I was hoping that when I finally got engaged to _that woman_ the mark would appear. That our first meeting had been a dud. Bloody arranged marriage.” He took another drink. “Any progress on a bill to override dear cousin Harry's bloody coup attempt?”

Jack nodded. “No one’s willing to step up and submit a bill to repeal. Harry must have a helluva network of spies finding blackmail material, because I know for a fact that your have the overwhelming support of most of Parliament."

“Yeah, well Harry is the only reason — and I mean _only_ reason — that I'm going through with this.”

“How come you’re not slurring anymore?” asked Jack.

“I’m not really drunk. This isn’t vodka. It’s water. Just pretending to be drunk. I’m going for a run, and you're coming.”

“We’ll have to stay out of the woods, though. The wolf was sighted again last night. How in the world has that animal eluded us for two months? And why has she decided your woods are her new home?"

"Yeah, and she wakes me up every night with her howling."

oOo

The work was complete, the flowers had been loaded into Rose's cheery yellow delivery van, and as Rose was too tired, Mickey was driving.

“Micks, there’s something I have to tell you. A secret. A big one. And I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner.”

“Yeah?”

“Pull over,” she said, voice cracking from fatigue.

“You alright? You seem off. It's more than just bein' tired, too."

“No. I’m not alright.” She covered her face and shook her head. 

Mickey stopped alongside the kerb. “Babes, what's going on?” The parking break thunked as he pushed the pedal to the floor, and the van rumbled quietly as it idled. 

She took a few deep breaths, turned her head away from him, and lifted her blonde hair, exposing her neck.

“What is that?”

“It’s a soulmark,” she whispered.

“You’re having me on.”

She shook her head.

“You sure it ain’t some weird rash? Or flesh-eating bacteria you picked up offa some exotic flowers you imported in from the jungle?”

Rose let her hair fall down.

“Lemme see that again.” Mickey lifted it back up again, and leaned in. “It’s a perfect circle with circly stuff inside. How can it be a perfect circle?”

“You’re asking about circles? Aren’t you going to ask who?” she said, voice trembling.

“Yeah, well, I suppose that’s the question, isn’t it? Who is it, then? But you’d better tell me it isn’t that Stone wanker. No matter what that mark tells ya, he’s not safe.“

“No!” She said, wide-eyed. “No. Not Jimmy. Thank God! I haven’t seen him in years. It’s no one you know. Well, not personally at least. I don’t know him even. I mean, I know who he _is_ , but I’ve never met him." Rose looked down at her lap.

“ _In honor of today’s wedding, here’s a song dedicated to all of you lovesick ladies and gents. Myself included,”_ said the radio announcer followed by dramatic boo-hooing and fake crying from the production crew and the other morning show host. 

_”Love hurts, love scars, love wounds, and marks. Any heart not tough or strong enough… Take a lot of pain… Take a lot of—“_

Rose slapped the radio’s off button and covered her face. “Could there be a worse song!” Rose screeched. “It’s him,” she said through her palms.

“Him who?”

“The King. King John.”

“What?” Mickey guffawed. “What was in that gold paint? It's those them solvent fumes or something you've been breathing all night." 

Rose side-eyed him. "No, Mickey."

"You’re exhausted. That’s what it is. You’re hallucinating ‘cos you been up almost two days. Sleep deprivation can kill a person. That's how they break spies, get 'em to talk, ya know.”

“Mickey! It isn’t sleep deprivation or some chemical! Ask Martha! She’s known for a while. She’ll tell you I’m telling you the truth.”

“But it’s not possible.”

“Why? Why isn’t it possible? Because I’m just Rose the flower shop girl? Rose the commoner who dropped outta college after one year? Not posh enough?”

“No, Babe, I don’t mean any of those things. But it isn’t possible because, well, like you said, you’ve never even met the bloke. I’ve never heard of anyone getting soulmarked before they even met their soulmate.”

“Just ‘cos you’ve never heard of it doesn’t mean it can’t happen.” 

“Rose. Listen to yourself.”

“Mickey. I need you to believe me,” she said sadly. “At least pretend to?”

He frowned.

“Why do you think I’ve been so sad since the engagement was announced?”

“Yeah, you and most of Gallifrey.”

“And I’ve been holding most of it in. I can’t sleep, I hardly eat. I’m amazed that I even got through doing these flowers. How do you think I felt when the shop got picked? When I found out the shop was chosen to do the flowers for _his_ wedding? My soulmate's wedding to someone else?”

“If, and I mean _if_ this is true, you gotta tell me more about how you know.”

She drew in a deep breath. “It started the day that Mar and me went to that statue dedication. Was when he was still the Prince.”

“Yeah, I remember that. You kept going on and on about his hair.”

She half smiled. “Don't get me started on the hair," she said dreamily. "Anyway, my neck started itching later that day. And then we saw the appearance on the news. The itching got worse. A lot worse. And then every time after that, any time I heard his voice — telly, radio — didn’t matter. The itching would start back up. The mark faded between times, but each time, it’d get darker and brighter. And then the day his engagement was announced, this showed up."

Rose turned her back to Mickey, and lifted her hair. "Don't you recognise it? It's his royal seal.”

"I wouldn't know. I don't pay attention to that sorta stuff. I leave that to the fangirls."

Rose shook her head, frustrated.

“This is mental. Maybe it’s psychoso—so—"

“Psychosomatic?" she corrected. "No. It's real."

“So it’s just his voice? Just hearing him talk?"

Rose nodded.

"That’s one powerful gob.

She snickered. “You’re telling me."

"But you heard him talking all the while you were growing up. How comes it didn't happen before?"

"I called the soulmate helpline. Found out that getting one without meeting the person is really rare, but it does happen. So hearing and taste are the most rare. And then there's touch, sight, and smell."

"Taste. Wonder how that one works?" Mickey frowned.

"Kissing, Mickey," she smirked.

"Oh. Right." He looked out towards nowhere for a minute. “And you’ve never tried to talk to anyone at the palace?”

“'Cos they don't get that phone call at least once a day. Course I didn’t! Outside of Martha, and now you, I haven’t told _anyone_ about this, let alone who I’m marked for.” 

Mickey furrowed his eyebrows. “This is totally mental.”

“Yeah, it is,” she said through newly-gathering tears. “You know what today means, don’t you? That I’ll never be with my soulmate. The one person on this planet that I’m supposed to be with. And he has no idea that I even exist.” She gave him a watery laugh and looked out the window. “We gotta go. Wouldn't do to be late for this job,” she whispered. "Probably get thrown in the dungeon."

Mickey half smiled. “Let’s say I believe you. Just think about it. You _do_ have a chance. You just have to figure out a way to meet him today while we're setting up the flowers."

Rose frowned. “You really think I haven’t thought of that? Try to talk to the King? I’d be arrested for just trying to go near him.”

Mickey just shook his head. “Rose, I have never know you to give up. This is your chance! It’s fate! The Universe’s way of making things right. Promise me you’ll try.”

“Easy for you to say. Your head isn’t on the chopping block.”

“They don’t chop people’s heads off anymore, Babes.”

“We gotta go. It's six forty-five, and I can't be late."

“Yeah. And you _gotta_ figure this one out." He pulled off of the kerb. Neither spoke until they reached the palace gate.

"Mornin',” said Mickey to the guard. “Beautiful day ain’t it? Perfect day for the weddin’.”

Rose pasted on a toothy grin.

“Papers please,” the guard asked with a straight, unreadable face. He bent slightly and looked over at Rose. “Good morning, ma’am.”

"Hello," she chirped.

Rose and Mickey were both questioned by the security officer while the flowers were inspected. Soon, they were following a guide-vehicle to a small loading dock in a newer, remote part of the palace. 

A crew made quick work of putting the flowers onto a fleet of wheeled carts, ready to be whisked off to their places of honour in the Abbey or grand ballroom. Rose kept a few of the boxes cradled in her arms.

“Go park your vehicle next to the bakery wagon,” said a gingered-haired woman to Mickey.

“Remember what I said, Rose. Promise.”

Rose breathed in and out deeply, and then Mickey headed back to move the delivery van.

“Ms. Tyler, your flower arrangements are exquisite. I’m Donna Noble, King John’s PA. The wedding coordinator is over in the Abbey. I’ll take you there. It’s about a ten minute drive.”

“Hi,” Rose offered through the best smile she could. “Uh, thanks for picking my shop. I really can’t figure out why you picked—”

“Because you are the best, and the King always picks the best. Ianto Jones has exquisite taste. You've met him. You know how meticulous he is. Where's my corsage?" Donna smiled.

“Here it is. I hope you like it.” Rose handed a white box to Donna.

The scent of gardenias perfumed the air.

“Oh, this is absolutely gorgeous!”

“Thanks,” Rose said, smiling brightly. “I’m glad it turned out as well as it did.”

“You had a tough order to fill. She's got ridiculously high standards.” Ms. Noble rolled her eyes. 

Rose raised an eyebrow at the woman’s candor.

“I really shouldn’t have said that out loud, but King John’s gob rubbed off on me a long time ago. Always says exactly what he’s thinking, that one.”

Again, Rose wondered about the freedom of her words.

“I suppose you’ll need about an hour at the church, and about two hours to set up the dining room and ballroom.”

Rose nodded as she pinned her own corsage — much more modest — to her dress. She always wore the same corsage to a wedding: a tiny nosegay of miniature pink and yellow English roses.

“You’ll have plenty of help. Astrid Peth, you met her, right?"

Rose nodded.

"She's in the Abbey overseeing the flower installation. You know, Astrid's leaving her position as palace floral designer after the wedding.”

“How come?" Rose asked. “Seems like a fantastic job.”

Donna laughed. “ _Was_ a fantastic job, but recently, more, shall I say, _challenging._ ” Donna frowned cryptically. “You should apply."

“I don’t think that would be a very good idea.” Rose looked away for a moment, and then cleared her throat. “I mean, I don’t know that I could handle the pressure.”

“Well, think about it. Judging from the quality of your work, you’d be a shoe-in. I don’t think the Princess, errr, Queen-to-be would ever have a complaint about _your_ work.”

Rose pinched her lips together, and there was an awkward silence. "I wonder where Mickey got to. How long does it take to park—"

The steady slap-slap-slap of two sets of feet hitting the path just behind them — and then his familiar, beloved voice — slammed into Rose’s ears. Her face turned red. Ringing overwhelmed her ears. But her mark didn’t itch. Instead, she felt like she was being _stabbed_ in the neck. She dropped the white flower boxes she was holding — the men's' boutonnieres and the bridal bouquet — and pitched forward, catching herself on Donna’s arm.

"I've got you. Are you alright?" Donna asked.

Rose briskly shook her head, and then tears pricked the back of her eyes, and she squeezed them shut. "Just really tired," she half-truthed.

Donna frowned. "You're not tired, I'm sure you're exhausted, sweetheart." 

“I'm so sorry. This is embarrassing and unprofessional. Never been like this at a job before."

"Hasn't _been_ a job like this before. That woman is a slave-driver. How long you been up? And when was the last time you had something to eat or drink?"

"Had a bite and some tea this morning, but been up about 36 hours now.”

“That woman and her demands," Donna muttered under her breath. "You are dead on your feet. Come on. First food, then rest. A half-hour power nap will do wonders. Kitchen’s this way. Whose flowers are these?” Donna asked, picking up the boxes.

“The mens' boutonnières and the bridal bouquet.” She groaned. “Oh I hope the Princess’ bouquet is okay. Those stupid gardenias bruise just looking at ‘em.”

Donna took a peek. “It’s fine. You’ve got it swaddled and safe as a newborn babe.”

Rose looked over her shoulder at the retreating figures of King John and his running companion. She stood frozen for a moment unable to tear her eyes off of his back. She shook her head, breathed in deeply a few times, and then followed Donna inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy cow, everyone! I am pretty surprised that you like this one so much. Thanks for all of your comments and kudos! I appreciate it so much! I was originally going to post twice a week; however, I've been so excited about _your_ excitement, that I've been posting almost every day!


	6. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And they meet... and it's _wonderful._

John bent over and grabbed his knees, breathing harder than he had in ages. The run had done him good physically, but emotionally, he was still a mess.

"I need to eat. Something normal before all of that ridiculous wedding food. Who does she think she is? This isn't the court of Louis XV. She wanted a whole roast boar with an apple in its mouth, put my foot down on that. And no turtle soup either. At least I got to pick the nibbles. And Bananas Foster made-to-order. And _no pears_."

Jack sighed as his friend muttered under his breath about ridiculous food and this stupid arranged marriage.

"Good morning, Highness. How may I serve you?"

King John scrunched up his face. "Oh, don't do that. I’m not up to dealing with the _Your Majesty, Your Highness, blah blah blah_ this early. Gonna have to be on my best behaviour enough as it is. Makes me cranky.” He leaned on the counter. “Ursula, gimme an omelette with green peppers and grilled onions and spicy pepper pickle, all sautéed in garlic butter. And a big stack of toast with raspberry jam and a pineapple banana smoothie."

The little lever clicked as John turned on the kettle to make himself a cup of tea, and then he slumped into a chair at a rustic-looking table for four.

“Unless Queenie-to-Be is a vampire, I think you should reconsider your breakfast choice. Even the guests in the last row will smell your breath." Jack laughed.

"Oh. Right." John tugged on his ear. "Ursula," he called. Make that a cheese omelette -- cheddar."

“Very good.” The chef nodded, and then began her work.

Jack turned a chair backwards and straddled it. "It's seven-thirty. Not too many hours now."

"Don't remind me."

A voice echoed from the corridor leading to the kitchen. "...and so then he says to me, 'No pear tartlets! If there are any pears anywhere, the wedding is off!' And all I can think is how fast I can get on Amazon and order a recipe book filled with stuff made with pears and have it sent to _that woman_ via Prime same-day."

"Donna," he bellowed, and then heard more of Donna’s laughter mingled with another cheerful, feminine voice.

"Oh! I didn't know you were in here,” Donna said, rounding the corner. “Should we come back?”

“Naw. Oh hello, who's this?" he asked, smiling as he stepped away from the rectangular kitchen table.

Rose was frozen like a statue, open-mouthed, staring at him. 

“I don’t know _why_ you have this affect on people,” Donna rolled her eyes. 

Rose fumbled a curtsy, and opened her mouth a few times, looking like she was trying to say something.

"I have this affect on people because I'm foxy," said the King with a cheeky wink and cluck of the tongue.

Rose's face burned red, and she turned away slightly.

“Stop flirting," Donna mouthed. "Your Highness,” she said, “this is Rose Tyler, the wedding florist.”

"Lovely to meet you, Rose Tyler the wedding florist." The stepped close, and then bowed from the waist. He took her hand, and with a butterfly touch of his lips, he placed a kiss. 

She felt a pop — like a rubber band had snapped against her neck. She gasped as she felt pins and needles rushing through her veins, and as quickly as the rush of sensation had started, it stopped. She closed her eyes and felt a sense of peace and calm and happiness flood her being. Her eyes fluttered open just as he released her hand and straightened back up.

“Aren’t you gonna introduce me?” asked Jack.

“That’s Jack.” Donna smirked, pointing at him with her thumb.

“It is _very_ nice to meet you.” He flashed a movie star grin. “You will be staying for the banquet and ball, won’t you? Save me a dance.”

She barely registered that Jack was talking to her. It was as if he was in the other room. His voice was muted and dim. She only had ears for the man in front of her.

“Jack,” warned his royal friend.

“I was just saying hello,” Jack protested.

“Exactly,” John muttered.

A wolf howling in the distance brought her back to reality.

King John straightened, and then absently squeezed the back of his neck. 

“Go on, sit down, Rose,” ordered Donna, who took the spot next to Jack, across from the King.

The only spot left at the rectangular table was next to the King.

“I can't sit next to him," Rose mouthed at Donna, wide-eyed.

“Why not? Of course you can sit next to him," Donna replied in a normal voice. "He’s just a bloke. Puts his pants on one leg at a time like the rest of us."

“And what a sight that is,” Jack said, winking.

“Jack!” the King growled and Donna rolled her eyes.

Rose's heart was thudding, and heat was building in her cheeks.

“You're flushed, blondie. Look like you're gonna almost faint again, so sit down already.”

“You almost fainted?” the King asked, concerned.

Rose startled when John slapped the back of his hand to her forehead. Her neck warmed pleasantly.

“No fever." He put two fingers on the side of her neck and began to count. “Your heart rate is elevated. You know, stress is a terrible thing. Does awful things to your body and mind. Have ever practiced mindful breathing? Yoga? Pilates? Do you exercise regularly?"

"Errr..." Rose couldn't form words as the feeling of his fingertips over her pulse-point made the sound of her heartbeat thump in her ears.

“She's plain exhausted, that's what. Been up over thirty-six hours now," Donna explained.

Rose yawned behind her hand. “Pardon me, Your Highness.”

“Why are you sorry? Of course you’re tired," John said kindly. "And don't call me that. Call me John."

"Oh, I don't... I don't know if... I could..." she said, clearing her throat.

"Royal command," he said with a wink. "Call me John."

"Okay." Her voice was thin.

“Now that's settled, you need food. Ursula," called Donna, "come over here and get some food into her.” She turned to Rose. “Tell her what you want. Go on. Anything.”

“Well not _anything_ ,” interrupted the King, “we don’t have tripe. Or goat’s eyeballs. Although I have had to eat those before. Swallowed ‘em whole, washed down with yak’s milk. Would’ve been a grave insult to the tribal matriarch if I'd refused.”

“Zip it, Crown Boy. She needs food."

Rose’s eyes went wide at the way Donna spoke to her Sovereign, and then she cleared her throat. “Umm, I’ll have what the King is having.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said the diminutive woman with the childlike voice.

“Good choice.” The King grinned at Rose. “Ursula makes a mean omelette.”

“I’ll take one, too,” added Jack.

“Me too,” said Donna. “Who knows the next time we’re going to get to eat.”

“Ursula is a brilliant chef. Flips it in the pan and everything. I _love_ when they flip it in the pan," the King enthused. "I need to learn how to do that. I suppose she learned how at Le Cordon Bleu. Do you know how to flip an omelette in the pan?"

Rose smiled, unable to keep the teeniest bit of her tongue from peeking through her teeth. “Nope. Don't know how. Might be fun to learn, though. It's flowers I know — I’m not the greatest cook.” The words were now coming out of her mouth naturally, and the spot on her neck radiated a comforting warmth down her back. 

“Oh, I bet if you set your mind to it, you could be a master chef.”

Rose bit her lip and blushed. “Thanks.”

“You know what else we don’t keep in the palace, Ms. Tyler? Pears. They're Banned. Forbidden.”

"Oh, you and your pearaphobia. Pears, pears, pears. Ever since we were kids. 'I will not eat that pear, Nanny. No! No! No!'" Donna said, hands on hips in the voice of a royal five year old terror, complete with stomping foot.

Rose looked down, and pinched her lips, but couldn’t stop a quiet laugh from escaping. “What’s with you and pears?” she asked, looking him straight in the eye.

“First of all, they're either rock hard or slimy mush. A thoroughly unreliable fruit. Second, you wouldn't eat a pear again if you'd been five years old and lost in a pear orchard and then you fell into a big bin of rotten pears."

“Rose, we came to get some food into you, not to hear one of his anti-pear rants. And John, you didn't get lost, you ran away from Nanny because you didn't want to take a nap. You're the one who climbed into that bin to hide from her.” Donna grabbed a perfect red and green apple from the basket in the center of the table and pushed it towards Rose. "Eat."

Rose contemplated how to take a bite from a whole apple in a polite, in-the-presence-of-the-King fashion. But then he looked at her lips, and nodded subtly, so she took a small bite from the fruit. A bit of juice ran down her lower lip and onto her chin. John grabbed a red and white checkered cloth napkin from a stack in the middle of the table and dabbed away the juice. 

**_And then in a move that Rose would consider for the rest of her life to be the moment that she knew without a doubt that his soul had finally recognised hers…_ **

…that the joining of their souls that had begun over a year before

…that their hearts had finally been sealed with the most chaste press of his lips to the back of her hand…

...in an action that would be second nature for only best mates or lovers or spouses... casual, familiar, intimate...

King John X of Gallifrey snatched the apple from Rose Tyler’s hand, and then he took an enormous bite from the very same spot that her lips, her tongue, and her teeth had just been. And then he smiled at winked at her. 

"What are you doing?” Donna thumped the back of his head. "She's starving, and you're stealing her food!"

"What! I'm hungry!" John protested. "Here. Let me cut it half and we can share. Hand me a paring knife, would you, Ursula?"

With knife in hand, he divided the perfect apple in two, and handed her half -- the half from which they had both bitten.

She breathed a few times, calming herself, as she considered this. Rose wondered if he had even thought about it, or if it had been second nature. He had bitten the spot where her lips had just been. Where her tongue had sampled the ripe juices. It had to be his soul sense -- the physical, mental, heartfelt _need_ of his soul to taste -- that had sought her out in the simplest of ways. 

She held the apple, running her fingertip along the sharp edge of the slice, and then she felt the smooth skin punctuated with tiny defects. The scent was fresh and sour. The flesh was crisp and white, a sharp contrast to the green and red skin. She scrutinised how the bite had left a perfect impression of his smile.

As if she were preparing to dive into a frigid alpine lake, she steeled herself, closed her eyes, and took a bite overlapping his.

"So it's really taken you thirty-six hours straight to get the flowers done?!” he said, still chewing.

"Stop eating with your mouth full," Donna chastised.

He ignored Donna, scrunched his face. “What sorta flowers take thirty-six to stick into vases? Blimey, what did _that woman_ demand anyway?” He rolled his eyes.

Donna shook her head. "It's a bit more complicated than shoving stems into a vase, John. Rose here creates works of art. And two words: gold leaf.”

“What?” John frowned. 

Rose cleared her throat and blushed. ”Yeah. The flowers are edged in gold leaf. It had to be done by hand."

"Talk about gilding the lily," John winked at Rose, and then elbowed her in the side. 

Rose squealed, startling, at the jab to her suddenly hyper-sensitive, tingling skin.

"Well of course the flowers are edged in gold. You saw that palace, Donna. That family has a _thing_ for gold. The place looked like an enormous bucket of molten gold was poured from the ceiling. And all of those mirrors." He waved his arm around, the core of the now finished apple in hand. He aimed at the far corner of the kitchen where the remains of the apple thudded in the compost bin.

“Oh, don't get me started on the mirrors," snorted Donna. “Rose, did you know that all night, the crew has been hanging miniature mirrors on all of your _perfect_ banquet table banquet table centrepieces? Was _that woman’s_ idea yesterday. A million little flashes of light. But still..."

"Mirrors, eh?" Jack said, to John. "I wonder what her bedroom--"

"Stop right there, Jack!" John warned, finger pointed, jaw set. "I don't want to hear any of your innuendo about what _that woman_ does in private. Especially not in front of our guest. Rose is a lady, and doesn't need to be treated to your special brand of humour. Do you understand? And I don't plan on _ever_ finding out if she likes mirrors, either. I'm counting on cloning technology to be ready by the time Parliament starts grumbling about an heir."

Rose's eyes went wide.

Donna barked a laugh. "I'm not touching that one with a ten foot pole. But it does make me wonder if Her Royal Horribleness might be a little narcissistic. It's just too pretentious. It’s too much,” Donna guffawed. “Not that I have a right to comment, and you didn’t hear any of that from me.”

“Aren’t royal weddings by definition pretentious?” Jack snickered. “And what about that rock in her engagement ring? I get that it’s some famous gem, but damn. A yellow diamond? It’s hideous.”

“Probably reminds her of gold,” Donna snorted. “Rose, you’re not gonna believe this, but she gave it to herself.”

“What?” Rose asked, successfully stifling a laugh that threatened to escape.

“Picked it herself at Graff. Most expensive jewellery store in the world, and the most expensive stone they had, and believe me, they have some mighty expensive rocks.”

“The ring we agreed to in the _negotiations_ was ‘Too small and too old,’" John affected her cultured accent. “So we renegotiated to give a gift of jewellery of equal or greater value to the engagement ring that was previously offered.” He rubbed his temples. “This is a merger, not a marriage.”

Donna rolled her eyes. “Good riddance. That parure she chose is gaudy.”

“What’s a parure?” Rose asked.

“A matching set of jewellery usually owned by royalty. She chose one with a necklace that's practically a shawl, three inch long chandelier earrings, a brooch the size of my fist, a cuff bracelet, and a tiara. White and yellow diamonds.”

“Yeah, well at least she didn’t choose the Star of Gallifrey. Good thing she doesn’t like blue.”

“I hid it,” admitted Donna.

“You did what?” Jack said through a stuttered laugh.

“Yep. I hid it inside of suit of armour.”

“Donna Noble, you are _brilliant._ ” The King grinned. Since he'd sat down, he'd slowly scooted his chair closer and closer to Rose's spot at the rectangular table. He casually draped his arm over the back of her chair.

“It’s a secret anyway, right? Not like she knows to look for it,” Donna winked.

“What’s the Star of Gallifrey?” Rose asked.

“Only the most amazing sapphire in the world." Donna rubbed her hands together and grinned. "It isn't the biggest sapphire in the world, but it's probably the most beautiful one. It's like there's a star glowing inside of it. Shines all on its own. I'dve pulled it right off of her scrawny little neck if she'd made off with it. It was John's Mum's. The King had it re-set into a pearl necklace for her birthday."

"I've never heard of it," Rose said.

"Me neither," Jack added.

"That's because it wasn't worn for public occasions. It's always been reserved for immediate family events. Been in the family for hundreds of years. Family lore says that great-great-Grandfather was sorta obsessed with it. Had it cut down many times trying to get the perfect glow," John said rather dreamily.

"Sounds lovely."

"If there's time, I'll sneak you down into the treasury and give you a peek," John whispered to her.

Her eyes went wide, and she turned her head. Their faces were inches apart. He swallowed hard, and she blushed. Quickly, they pulled away from each other. But not before Jack and Donna gave each other looks of surprise. And then the conversation picked back up.

Rose’s eyes darted back and forth as the other three continued to volley comments about the jewellery in the treasury, the ridiculousness of the wedding, and disappointment about the marriage. She found herself smiling, and feeling a contentment she had never known. And she also realised that she couldn't remember the last time that her neck had itched. Further, she was no longer tired. In fact, she felt rested. Rose Tyler felt absolutely _wonderful!_


	7. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SENSORY OVERLOAD!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The previous chapter and this one were originally one chapter, but TOOOOO long, so I decided it would only be fair to post both of them at once.

"What do you think about the wedding, Rose? You were in the thick of the planning?” Donna asked.

"Uh, I don't think it's for me to say." She fiddled with her earring.

"Oh come on, it's just the four of us," Jack leaned forward from across the table conspiratorially.

"You _are_ a wedding expert," John added with a grin, turning towards her fully. He slumped back in his chair resting one ankle on his knee, exposing his long, toned legs.

Rose cleared her throat to fight the surging attraction that was building. She was almost uncomfortably turned on at the sight of his long, well-toned legs covered with soft hair, legs that tapering down into strong, thin ankles. Every time he bounced his foot, she could see the smallest rippling of muscles. She clasped her hands in her lap, cognitively fighting the urge to run her fingertip all the way from his ankle to the very, very top of his thigh. Rose shook herself out of the aroused stupor.

"Well, I suppose it isn't my personal taste. A bit posh for me. But it’ll be beautiful. Appropriate for a royal wedding. And everyone has worked really hard. All of of us have met together lots of times so we could coordinate the designs, and everything's gonna be gorgeous and I really hope both you and Her Highness will like what we’ve done.”

“Oh! No no no! I didn’t mean to say everyone hasn’t done a wonderful job." John squeezed her shoulder and let his hand linger for a moment. " _Molto bené_! What do I know anyway. I'm just a bloke. The bride usually runs the show, doesn’t she?”

She cleared her throat, and looked to Donna for guidance. 

“You _can_ give your opinion you know. He may be King, but he still has conversations. He’s got a world-class, royal gob.”

"You don't know the half of it," Rose blurted without thought. She gasped and covered her mouth. "What I mean to say is, um, I'm... uh..." She grasped for words. “I’m sorry, Your Highness.”

The King guffawed, Jack threw his head back and laughed.

Donna reached across the table and patted Rose's hand. “Oh, I like you, Rose!"

The King laid a gentle hand on her forearm. "And didn't I say to call me John? Or am I going to have to issue a," his eyes lowered along with his voice, "royal command?"

Jack nudged Donna under the table.

Rose fiddled with her gold hoop earring.

"You sure you won't apply for the floral llaison job?" Donna asked to break the tension.

"Is Astrid leaving?" Jack asked.

Donna nodded and sighed. "Told me that it wasn't worth it to have to deal with _that woman_. She got a job as head floral designer a posh trans-Atlantic cruise ship."

"Do I know her?" John asked.

"She been around for a couple of years. Your Mum hired her on for the Golden Jubilee, and kept her," Donna explained. 

"She's just your type, John. Beautiful eyes, blonde, and petite," Jack winked at Rose, and John blushed, squirming in his seat.

"I think you danced with her at the staff Christmas party last year. She's a nice girl," said Jack. "Cheerful. Not a mean bone in her body."

"Oh, I do think I remember her. Mum mentioned her. Even tried to set us up on one of those blind dates she was always arranging. But she was already seeing someone." Again, John draped his arm over the back of Rose's chair, but this time he tapped her shoulder rhythmically.

Rose cleared her throat and picked a fingernail. "You went on dates with commoners?"

"Why wouldn't I?" he said, turning to look straight at Rose. "People are people, crown or no crown."

"His Mum was a commoner," Donna said. "The King and Queen were soulmates, and there was no way that the King would marry anyone but his soulmate."

"I didn't know that," Rose said with a gentle, lopsided smile.

"It was kept quiet. Times were so different back then. Royals had to marry royals," Donna said with a slight frown. "The Officer of Royal Protocol was called in right away to find a way for them to marry. Turns out her father's family had fled Russia during the Revolution so of course, proof of their royal status was lost. Someone sent a picture to palace of her parents and grandparents and cousins and such at a family gathering at the Alexander Palace. The Queen's grandfather was a second cousin or something. She'd never even said anything about it. In fact, she didn't even _know_."

"You know, Rose," John looked at her, "I think, well... if... if my Mum were still around, she would've loved..." John's hand was on Rose's shoulder, and he had switched from tapping to idly drawing lazy circles with his fingertip. He stopped himself, and then withdrew his hand to rub his neck.

"Rose, I think what he's trying to say is--" Jack began.

"You should apply for the job," Donna interrupted Jack. "As Floral llaison. You'd be amazing. You're ridiculously talented and more important, you'd fit right into our little circle here. The three of us? Thick as thieves. And whaddya know... you've filled the fourth spot at our table. It's been empty for too long."

"A foursome. Sounds fun," Jack flirted.

"Jack Harkness. You are impossible." Donna slugged him on the arm.

"Uh..." Rose gulped.

"You know _Your Highness_ , there is _another_ job that will be opening up very soon, and I do think Rose here is probably completely qualified for it. We talked about it just this morning. Remember? An official, _real_ wi--"

"Let's not talk jobs, shall we?" said the King. His ears were pink-tipped, and his voice slightly thin at Jack's suggestion of an official mistress.

Jack laughed, full-throated and hearty, his Hollywood grin luminous. “I love winding him up, Rose. So dish it, sweetheart. Tell us about weddings that aren’t dipped in gold.”

A slow grin grew on her face. “There have been some theme weddings. Really fun, but sorta challenging too. Did a Harry Potter one last year. And then there was that circus one. As soon as the flowers were set up, I took off because everyone in the wedding party were dressed like clowns!"

“Oh, I do _not_ like clowns,” shuddered Donna. 

“Most are what you'd expect, though. I sit down with them, and we talk about tastes and colours, and I show them what’s available depending upon the season, and we go from there.”

“Have you ever had someone want something so completely hideous that you couldn’t bring yourself to do it?” Donna asked.

“There have been some not so pretty ideas," she grinned, "but I figure if that's what they want, then great! Everyone's different. What's ugly to me is beautiful to them. I just want them to be happy on their special day,” she shrugged.

“That’s brilliant,” John said resting his head on his hand as he studied her face. “You know what? _That woman_ never asked me once what I wanted. What I thought about any of it. Not once.” He sighed.

“I’m sorry John. That’s…” Rose cleared her throat, “gotta be frustrating for you.”

“At this point, I don't really care anymore. It's not a real marriage, and it's nothing I'll ever want to remember. That's it, I'm not going to waste my time complaining about that woman's demands any more. Finito."

Rose, Jack, and Donna clapped and cheered. 

"So normal grooms _do_ get involved, right?” John asked.

Rose bit her lip. “Well, it's usually the bride that plans most of it, but not always, and if he's there, I **always** ask him what he thinks. Some say that they just want their bride to be happy, and leave all of the planning to them, because they truly want her to get her dream wedding. Others simply don't care. It's like they don't want to be bothered, so I work with the bride."

"I wonder how many of them make it to five years," John said with a smirk.

"Yeah," she agreed. "But my favourite weddings are the ones where they work together. It’s nice to know what both of ‘em want. Sets my creativity loose." She was smiling now. "I think it draws them closer, too."

“For example?” The King scratched his neck, and then went back to resting his chin on his hand. His eyes never left Rose's face.

“Well, there was this one wedding,” Rose said, her face now glowing with excitement, “where the groom was really into bicycling. I mean _really_ into it. Even took his summer vacay during the Tour d’ Versaillia so he could follow the race. And that’s how he met his wife. Through bicycling. They were on a guided bike tour up in the Lake District. So he mentioned he’d like yellow flowers, because of the yellow jersey that the cyclist who’s up in front wears."

“That’s brilliant! The stage leader wears the yellow jersey!” John said with a grin. “Oh, I like that.”

“Has Lee mentioned anything, Donna?” asked Rose.

“Rose here is doing my wedding flowers,” Donna explained, to the men. “He hasn’t said anything specifically. I’ll have to ask him.” She paused. “Of course he loves fishing, but I do _not_ want a fish-theme.”

Rose bit her lip and tilted her head. “What do you think about feathers?”

“Feathers?” Donna frowned.

“Yeah. Feathers." Rose pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, messing with her elaborate hairstyle, which was half up, but of course, down in back to cover her neck. “Mum once told me that Dad went through a fishing phase when they were first married. He tied his own flies. They're made out of feathers. What about peacock feathers?"

"Speaking of peacocks," John turned to Rose, " _that woman_ wanted roast peacock! I flat out refused. Mum loved those birds. I think I may have saved our flock from the guillotine."

"Ewww!" Rose shuddered.

John and Rose fell against each other laughing. Her hand ended up resting on his chest.

"Fishing flies are made out of peacock feathers? What kind of fish would have a mouth that big?" Donna asked.

"No," John said, squinting, arm still around her. “Rose here is saying she could use peacock feathers as an artistic allusion to fishing."

"Since when have you been interested in artistic allusions?" Donna countered.

"I like beautiful things!" John looked right at Rose. "And those birds are always dropping feathers out in the garden."

“Now you’re getting it!” Rose offered a bright smile to the King. “And of course I'd use feathers that are naturally shed. And it wouldn't cost an arm and a leg."

“Don’t worry about budget, Rose. Crown Boy here’s paying for the wedding. It’s his present to us.”

“I am?” he squeaked.

“Yes, you are. You’re loaded. And after everything you’ve put me through since we were kids, you are paying for my wedding. John here and me grew up together, Rose. My granddad was his family’s chauffeur until he retired a few years back. I grew up in the palace. Went to school together with all of the other kids. And the pranks this dumbo would pull on me? Once he snuck five bottles of food colouring in my shampoo and my hair turned green.”

John rubbed scratched his neck. "I was ten.”

"And you were _so_ jealous of my ginger hair.”

Rose smile was full, and her laugh, full of mirth. 

“She’s not completely innocent,” John said, pointing a finger at Donna. “Salt in my tea at least once a week.”

Donna snorted a laugh. “Remember the time that we put a frog in the governess’s bed?”

“Ha!” John barked a laugh. “She made us muck out the stables for a month.”

Donna sighed. “Oh, those were good days, John.”

“It's nice to have good friends, isn't it?” Rose said kindly, looking at each of the three others at the table. “Mickey — he drove the van here — we’ve been best mates since we were kids. Even dated for a while."

“But you aren't together anymore. Or are you?" John rubbed his neck.

"No." She shook her head. "Definitely not together. My flatmate and him are seeing each other now."

"Good. That's..." he nodded and swallowed hard, "that's good."

"Well, best friends do make the best spouses. That’s what Granddad always said,” said Donna.

John sighed heavily. 

“Oh John, I’m really sorry.” Donna reached across the table, and patted the King's hand. "I shouldn't have said that, especially not today."

"Let's just not talk about it, alright?" He looked out into space for a moment.

John withdrew his arm, and an uncomfortable silence settled around the table. Rose started to fiddle with her earring again as she looked up at the ceiling. Jack stared straight ahead. Donna crossed her arms. Rose stole a few glances, and saw that John’s jaw flexing.

And then the wolf howled.

“Someone better catch that wolf before the guests start to arrive,” Jack said.

“Back to my wedding,” Donna added, also steering the conversation away from the royal wedding. “I did say I wanted bright colors.”

“Jewel tones — like the peacock feathers. That wuld be perfect for that January wedding of yours, don’t ya think? Rich blue and emerald green?" Rose turned to face John. "Would be brilliant with her gorgeous... ginger... hair, don't ya think, King?" Flirtatiously, Rose tipped her head, and gave him that tongue-touched grin.

"You're... ummm... brilliant," he said. "Beautiful. I mean the wedding, of course. Perfect." He nodded.

Donna smiled, yet again, at Jack. "Jack do you think you'd have time to to go down to Boots and buy a box kit? We could dye his hair ginger before the wedding. Maybe that'd scare that woman off." She snorted. "You up for it, Rose? You are going to have a bit of free time after the flowers get set up."

Rose sighed, and looked at his hair. She reached over and messed with it. "Red would take very well to this gorgeous hair of yours. You have a lot of natural red running through it." 

John closed his eyes and smiled as she softly massaged his scalp, tugging once in a while.

Donna kicked Jack under the table. “Oh I _knew_ I picked the right one for the job. Isn’t Rose brilliant, John?” gushed Donna. "And not just with flowers. Apparently she knows hair, too!"

“Yeah,” John sighed contentedly. “She really is.”

“Oh goodie. Food’s here!” Donna smiled and rubbed her hands together in anticipation.

Two servers placed perfect plates of cheesy eggs in front of each diner, and they all dug in.

John took a bite, and his eyes rolled back. He moaned.

"Was that bite good for you?" Jack teased. "Should we leave you and your omelette alone until you are _done_?"

"Mmmmmmmm, this is the best thing I have _ever_ tasted." John shovelled a second bite into his mouth and groaned.

Rose raised her eyebrows. Her cheeks flushed. She guzzled the rest of her glass of water as she watched him savour the omelette.

He sighed happily when he had finished his eggs, and then he cleared his throat and looked at Rose. “You know what I would’ve wanted the wedding to be like? If I’d been asked for my input?” John took a bite of toast and moaned again. "In fact, I think you should guess." He scratched his neck with his free hand.

“You know, I do think I know, John,” she said with a wide grin. “Something to do with the stars.”

“Yes!” he exclaimed. “How’d you know?”

“You’re an astronomy professor. I’d always hoped to take your course. But it didn’t happen.” Rose rested her head on her hand, looking at the King with stars in her eyes.

“Yeah,” he drawled. “Hated leaving teaching. Couldn’t be helped, though.”

Rose straightened up and shook her head. “I’m sorry, that was insensitive of me.”

“How was it insensitive? It was a compliment! You told me you’d wanted to take my class!” He stole a slice of toast from her plate and shoved half of it in his mouth.

"Hey! That's my toast!" Rose feigned anger, and slapped his hand.

Jack and Donna looked at each other, both with one eyebrow raised. They had watched the pair's personal space shrink by the minute. And they were flirting. And for the first time in ages, John was genuinely happy.

“So how would the stars inspire you, Rose Tyler, proprietor and Chief Creative Officer of the Wolf and Rose florist?"

Rose thought for a moment. “These are just ideas, right? Of course I would include star-shaped flowers. There are so many of those, I wouldn't even know where to begin. And orchids are so exotic. Almost don't look real. Like they're from another planet, even. And oh!" She pointed at him. "Stargazer lilies! Most have a bit of pink, and lots of brides like pink, of course,” she smiled. “I like pink."

"Then pink you shall have, Rose Tyler," John said definitively.

Jack and Donna traded somewhat confused looks.

"What's happening here?" Donna whispered to Jack.

"If it weren't a crazy thought, I'd say he'd found his soulmate."

"Wouldn't that be so romantic?" Donna said dreamily.

Jack and Donna ended their whispered conversation, returning their attention back to John and Rose, who were completely oblivious to the others at the table, and still discussing flowers.

"But there are all-white ones, too, if... you know," she cleared her throat, "the groom doesn't like pink. Because I would always ask. Wouldn't be fair to him if everything was done up with only my favourite colour," Rose said kindly, Donna and Jack still forgotten. "And even the name -- Stargazers -- reminds _you_ of what _you_ love, yeah? The stars. And I promise, I wouldn’t dip the flowers in gold. But I might sprinkle them with the lightest touch of silver dust. Just to make them shimmer. Like the night sky."

"Just like my royal crest. Midnight blue and silver..."

"And _I've_ always wanted an outdoor ceremony under the stars," she said, "so I'd suggest a summer wedding, all shimmery and glowing in the candlelight."

He looked at her hard. “That’s exactly what I would’ve wanted.” He swallowed and turned his attention back to his plate of breakfast. "If I'd been asked. If it had been _my_ wedding."

They were lost in each other's eyes, Jack and Donna forgotten sometime along the way.

But then John hissed, clapping his hand to his neck. He and Rose jerked apart, only realising then that their hands had migrated under the table. Without even knowing, at some point, Rose and John had threaded their fingers together, and their hands were cozily nestled where his thigh met hers. 

He reached for his neck yet with his other hand, gritted his teeth, and scratched violently. “I think I've been bitten by a mosquito. Nasty little creatures. Would someone get me some cortisone?”

Rose gasped, and fell into a coughing fit.

"You okay, Rose?" The King patted her back with one hand to calm the coughing spell while scratching his neck with the other. "Here. Drink this." He stopped scratching for just enough time to hand her a glass of water.

“Stop scratching, dumbo!” Donna said. “It’ll only make it worse and you don’t want a gross bloody gaping wound on the back of your neck that all of those guests to have to look at.”

“But it’s torture!” he screeched.

“Oh bloody hell. Here. Let me take a look, make sure it’s not a tick. Did you run through the woods?” Donna asked.

“No, we went by the pond,” Jack answered on behalf of a miserable King John. “Worried about that wolf.”

Donna turned John's head roughly. 

She gasped.

“Your Highness, may I speak with you in private?” Donna asked with unusual deference.

“Donna. Please. I just want some itch medicine,” he begged.

“John,” she hissed. “It. Is. Important.” She hauled him out of his chair by the arm and dragged him around the corner into the corridor.

“John. That’s not a bug bite,” she hissed into his ear once they were in the empty corridor. “It’s a soulmark.”

He blinked. His mouth gaped. “What?”

“A soul mark. It’s faint, but it’s there. Looks brand new. And it's beautiful," she said with a hint of awe in her voice.

“Donna,” he said seriously, “it’s just a bug bite.”

“John, I _know_ what a soulmark looks like.” Donna lifted her hair, revealing the shimmering image of an open book. Donna and Lee had met at a book shop.

“I didn’t know you and Lee were soulmates,” he said.

She nodded with a soft smile and laid a hand gently on his arm. "I never said anything because I didn't want you hurting any more than you already were. I'm was so devastated that you were being forced into a marriage with that harpy. But now, that doesn't have to happen. Don't you see? This is what was supposed to happen all along. She’s right in there waiting for you, John.”

“Oh come on, Donna! It’s a bug bite.”

"No it isn't. It's a soulmark. You've touched her, heard her voice, seen her, and kissed her hand. The only thing you haven't done is stick your nose into her face and sniff her. But you could do that, you know, just to cover all of the senses."

“It can’t be her.” He crossed his arms and tipped his nose. “She would’ve said something.”

“Maybe hers hasn’t appeared yet. Or maybe she’s afraid. You’re her _King_ after all."

"She would've said something..." he repeated.

"Well it ain't me, mister, and unless it's Jack, who I don't think it is unless you've been holding out on me, Rose Tyler _has_ to be her because you didn't have it when we walked into the kitchen. You've already used all five of your senses!" 

She ticked them off on her hand. "Hearing, seeing, touching, and even if you haven't stuck your nose in her face, her head was practically resting on your shoulder for a bit! So you probably _could_ smell her. And you stink by the way. You need a shower after that run. So that leaves tasting. You kissed her hand. And you bit into her apple, and you gave her back the part _you'd_ eaten out of, and she finished it off!

"No wonder the two of you have lost all sense of personal space, been so touchy-feely, and have been giving each other moon-eyes since the moment you kissed her hand. You're in the first stage of soulmating. It can be _really_ intense. Your senses are the sharpest they've ever been, aren't they? You were actually moaning in there over the food, and I can't bring myself to say what you sounded like you were doing because the thought of you and that particular activity makes me want to barf. But yeah, you sounded like **that**. Quick tell me. What colour are Rose's eyes?"

He grinned goofily. "The colour of 100 year old Glenfiddich single-malt Scotch with a bit of gold dust sprinkled in, shimmering like a firefly dancing in the moonlight." He gasped. "Oh, that was really specific."

"And what does she smell like?"

"Donna!"

"Go on, lover boy."

"Fresh strawberries and cream and honey and gardenias and roses."

"You can't stop talking about her can you? Even your gob is on overdrive. And when you touch her is it like your whole body is ready to combust?"

He cleared his throat, and then rubbed his neck.

"How's the itching?" Donna asked kindly.

"It's getting better, actually. Not nearly as bad as it was a few minutes ago."

"A HA!" Donna exclaimed. "I tricked you into admitting it! Your soulmark stops itching when your souls have connected." 

Donna grabbed his arm and pulled him back into the kitchen. 

“Touch her, John.” She pointed at Rose.

“What?” he squealed.

“What?” Rose whispered.

“Do it!”

He stood frozen, but then Donna grabbed his hand and held it firmly to Rose’s bare arm.

Rose's face turned bright red, but John didn't say a thing.

“Okay. So neither of your are touchers.” 

“Toucher? That’s just rude.” John pulled his hand away and crossed his arms.

“What are you doing, Donna?” asked Rose, tears threatening.

“Forget seeing and hearing, too, those are a given. I'll save the smelling test for last. Oh! I know! Of course you're a taster! You lick _everything_. Kiss her again.”

“Donna,” he warned through gritted teeth.

"The two of you, do you even realise that you've been holding hands? And touching each other? And John, you've actually been smiling. And laughing. You haven't done that in ages. And you've been flirting."

He was silent.

"If you won't admit it, maybe she will!" Donna turned to Rose. “Where's your soulmark? Come on, blondie. Show us."

“Donna,” she breathed, tears now glistening in her eyelashes. "Please. Stop."

“Will someone please tell me what’s going on?” Jack asked.

“We don’t have much time! If you’ve forgotten, John, you’re getting married in less than eight hours, and _not_ to your soulmate! And to someone who is a _nightmare._ So one of you please do _something_!” Donna panicked. “Jack, King John here, he’s found his soulmate. Right here. It's Rose."

“Hot damn!” Jack punched the air.

John stood statue still, staring down at the table. 

Rose hugged herself protectively.

"Go on, show him, Rose," Donna ordered, arms crossed. "And if you won't, I will."

Rose's hand shook violently. Slow... hesitant... She reached behind her head and gathered her hair in her grasp. But then she let go. "You do it."

Donna didn't hesitate to lift Rose's hair up and away. "Oh, Rose," Donna said, awed. "That is beautiful. It's silvery and shimmers like a pearl. I've never seen anything like it. John," Donna said, turning towards the King. "Please look. You gave this to her. You chose this mark out of the love of your heart."

He squeezed his eyes and fists. "I can't," he gritted through clenched teeth.

Jack took a look. "John, I'm begging you, buddy, please. Just look."

"If I look, I won't be able to go through with it, alright?" 

"And that's why you have to," Donna said. "Do you know what happens to soulmates who don’t mate?” she asked quietly.

“Of course I know!” John bellowed.

“John,” Jack said seriously. “You need to listen to Donna. It won’t be pleasant. For either of you.”

"Rose. Convince him."

She shook her head. "'M not gonna force him. And I don't want to see his either."

Jack held his watch in front of John's face. “Look at the time! Do you _really_ think you can go through with this marriage knowing Rose is right here? That you’ve finally found her? Your soulmate? The one you have been mooning over without even knowing her for the past million years?” Jack asked. “Just this morning you told me, no _begged_ me to find a way to stop this wedding! Well here she is. Staring you in the face. The answer.”

“And Rose. You’ll be miserable. You will ache. I know someone who lost his chance with his soulmate because he was a daft git and refused to marry him because his parents didn't like him, and he was a blooming coward,” Donna added.

Rose shook her head in denial and hugged herself. “I’ll survive. It’s a royal wedding,” Rose said under her breath. “There’s much more at stake than my happiness.”

“You can’t ignore this!” Jack pounded his fist on the table.

“Jack, stay out of this,” John warned darkly.

Donna sighed and shook her head sadly, and then looked at Jack. She jerked her head. "Let's give these two some time to talk." 

The friends left the soulmates alone in the kitchen.

"Why didn't you say anything before this?" John ran a hand down his face, jaw set.

"Highness," she said respectfully, "would you have done anything different if you were in my shoes?"

He sighed, and then shook his head. "You did exactly what I would have done. And if the circumstances were any different... If I'd found you just a few months sooner... Rose," he paused, his eyes fixed on hers, "Rose, does it need saying?"

Rose bit back a sob seeing his broken heart in her soulmate's eyes. She didn't know whether she should nod or shake her head. She certainly understood, but she needed to hear him say it. Just once. Just once before all hope had vanished.

"I'm so sorry." John fled the kitchen in one direction, and Rose, the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry. Not sorry. But only halfway there, after all.


	8. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All is not lost...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this makes up -- at least a little bit -- for the previous chapter.

Rose found a quiet hallway, leaned against the wall, and sobbed into her hands. What was actually quiet chatter from a room around the corner drifted into her ears and thudded like a kettle drum. Her skin prickled as winter air leaked through the crack of an old window casement. The acrid scent of ammonia and bleach and floor wax assaulted her overly sensitive nasal passages, and she coughed.

But then a gentle hand rested on her shoulder, and she felt immediately comforted. But even without looking, she knew the hand didn't belong to her soulmate. The weight was different. The fingers were not as strong, not as long.

“Oh, Rose," Donna said softly. "How long have you known, sweetheart?”

Rose sniffed and straightened up. “Can we go someplace else? I think we're by a janitor's cupboard and the smell of loo cleaner's making me sick."

Soon they were in a small lounge with a casual seating area for half a dozen people. Donna locked the door behind her, and dimmed the lights by half.

"Would you like it darker, or is this alright?"

Rose nodded. “It’s better, but why are people shouting? Why does the light hurt?”

Donna guided her to the sofa and sat them down. "It's not that bright, Rose. You're just sensitive right now. Happens right after you’ve bonded with your soulmate. It's a bit startling, but you'll get used to it, and it'll die down soon enough."

Rose rubbed her temples.

“Right now, you have double the sensitivity to smells, tastes, and all that. Both of you do. John’s going through this too. Everything's brighter right now, the smells are more intense. Your skin's tingling, right?”

“And I’m dying for him to hug me or just to hold his hand.”

“Well I can give you a hug. It’ll help some.” She wrapped her arm around Rose and pulled her into her side. “But you really need John. He’s the only one who will make it better. And he needs you, too.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t always get what you want.”

Donna nodded and sighed. “If you were to eat a piece of chocolate cake right now, you'd be making those same indecent noises that John made back there when he was eating his omelette.”

Rose tipped her head back and groaned, frustrated.

Donna laughed. “I remember when I met my fiancé, Lee. We both were so sensitive that we left the book shop where we'd just met, and went to his house because. We laid down in his darkened bedroom and just held each other. Didn't even talk. It didn't take long for our senses to calm though, maybe an hour or two."

"You and your fiancé are soulmates?"

"Mm hmm."

Rose frowned for a moment. "Why didn't they tell us these things in school? Like in biology or health class? I didn't know any of this."

"I don't know that it's usually as intense as what you're going through. Probably because you aren't with your soulmate right now. The two of you've been ripped apart right when you need each other the most.”

Rose whimpered. 

“You know how a baby duckling imprints on its Mum? He’s being a big baby duckling who's run off and can't find his mum."

"Are you calling me his Mama duck?" Rose laughed quietly.

"No. You're _both_ big baby duckling dumbos who've run off. Not the best the analogy, but I think you know what I'm getting at."

"So John and me, we should be experiencing all of these heightened senses together? Like imprinting on each other."

“Yes. And you would be helping each other adjust. For all intents and purposes, the two of you just got married in God's eyes or whatever you believe in, even though the law might not recognise it. But then you both got cold feet, and ran out of the church when you should be on your honeymoon."

Rose's eyes went wide. "What? Married?”

"Rose, didn't anybody explain _any_ of this to you? What about your parents? Are they soulmates?" 

"Donna,” she said with soft, sad eyes, “my parents are both dead. And I have no idea if they were soulmates or not. Dad died when I was a baby, and I never saw a mark on my Mum's neck."

"Sweetheart, soulmarks fade when one half of the pair passes away. The one left behind will always feel it, but the bond changes into something soft and gentle and beautiful. The memory of their bondmate becomes a precious, cherished memory. But the mark disappears."

"Oh.” Rose wiped a stray tear from her eye. 

"What about a soulmate counselor? Did you call the Helpline?"

“I got the mark the day that the King and that woman’s engagement was announced, but I waited a week after that to call.”

“Do you know when you connected with John? When he sent you the mark?”

“I know exactly when it happened. It was fourteen months ago.”

"WHAT?!" Donna calmed herself with a mindful breathing exercise. "Alright, blondie. You're going to tell me everything, and you're going to start from the very beginning. But first. Let me record this. Is that alright?"

"Why?"

"Because I'm the best PA in the Kingdom of Gallifrey, and I know when something needs to be documented."

"You're not gonna let up until I do, are you?"

"You bet your pretty little arse I'm not."

“I have a feeling you always get your way, too. Whatever. It’s not like I don’t have any more to lose. I’ve lost everything already. Do you have a tissue? I’d rather not have mascara streaks running down my face."

"Nope. We're recording this exactly as you are." Donna pulled out the PopSocket on the back of her mobile, and propped it up, and then tapped _record_.

"This is Donna Noble, Personal Assistant to His Royal Highness, King John X of Gallifrey. It's 8:04 in the morning on Friday, December 1st. I'm in Gallifrey Palace, and today is the day of the King's wedding. This is the official sworn statement of Rose Marion Tyler, the King's Soulmate. Do you solemnly swear that this statement is the truth?"

"Yes."

"And do you understand that should your statement be proven false it will be considered an act of treason, and you will be subject to the full and swift execution of the law of Gallifrey, which is life imprisonment?"

Rose cleared her throat, swallowed hard, and nodded, looking straight at the mobile. "Yes. I understand."

"Tell your story, Rose, and start from the beginning."

“Right.” She pulled in and released a deep breath. "I've always had a _thing_ for him, I mean the King. Even when I was a little girl. My friends made fun of me, but I didn't care," she smiled fondly. "Started out as a sweet, innocent thing. I'd draw pictures of us together standing by a castle. I was always in a puffy pink dress, and he would be wearing a huge crown. I made him birthday cards and sent them every year. Mum always took me to post ‘em. Dad died when I was a baby, so I never knew him. It was just Mum and me. She was a wonderful Mum.

“So when I became a teenager, it turned into a full-on crush. I was a fangirl, you might say. Kept posters, scrapbooks, all of that. Like he was a pop star or celebrity or something. I finished school, and went to work in our shop. Mum owned a florist shop that had belonged to her Mum and Dad. I was saving up to go to university. Ha!” she laughed. “I was even planning on taking classes from the Prince. Not that I’d have understand anything he was talking about.” 

She looked down into her lap for a moment, and then back into the camera. “Right before I turned twenty, my Mum died. I never made it to college, but I inherited the shop. Ironically, it’s called The Wolf and Rose, and no," she laughed, "the shop wasn't named after me. It's been around since before the War.

"So after Mum died, and I was on my own, something changed." She turned away from the camera, and looked at Donna. "I was absolutely in love with him, Donna. I can't explain how it happened. It just did. It changed from a crush into genuine love. It wasn't how he handsome he is, but he is gorgeous of course. It was his kindness and caring for all of us here in the kingdom. I loved that he was a professor, that he wasn't just a royal. It was almost like he was one of us." She quieted. "I wanted to be a part of his life."

"And when do you think he marked you?"

"I know the _exact moment._ It was in October, fourteen months ago. I went to see the King -- he was still the Prince then of course. He was dedicating a statue close to my shop. The way he talked about the story behind the memorial, it was beautiful. He told us about a young mum who took care of a group of orphans.”

"Was that the memorial to Nancy and Jamie?”

"Yeah, that's the one."

"I was there. And I know what you mean. He got that letter, and oh! Did that story move him. He commissioned one of the best bronze artisans in the country to create it. That mum was like the most important person of the War in his eyes. That was a beautiful dedication. I can see why it happened there. Oh, I'm sorry, that bit’s not for the record. Go on." Donna smiled.

"So afterwards, he went down the line and thanked us for coming. He shook my hand, and said maybe five words to me. I thanked him for 'dedicating'," she rolled her eyes. "Martha, my flatmate, she teased me about that daft reply for weeks." Rose laughed. "And then after he left, I thought I'd been bitten by a mosquito. Martha's a medical resident, so she looked at it, and thought it was some weird bug bite. But it went away after that. Well, for a while. Every time I heard his voice on the radio or telly, it would start to itch. But sometimes it hurt. The day that the King and Queen died, and Prince John delivered his address, the pain was just awful.

"This went on for almost a year. He'd talk, the spot on my neck would flare up. And then on the day that the engagement was announced, I lost it. Martha was there, you can ask her. I was a mess. I went to take a bath to try and calm down, and that's when I saw it on my neck. The mark. It appeared.”

"Rose, please show the mark for the statement."

Donna picked up her mobile. Rose lifted her hair, and Donna zoomed in on the shimmering mark, and then she returned it to its spot. 

"What happened next?"

"I hid the mark. I stopped wearing my hair up. I didn't show it to anyone, and I certainly didn't tell anybody. I was in complete shock. After a week, I was so miserable that I knew I _had_ to tell someone, so I called the Soulmate Helpline. She could see my mobile number, but not my name, so I gave her my first name only. I also didn't tell her who _he_ was. Just said his name was John. 

She asked me a lot of questions, and figured out that my soulsense is hearing. She called me an Auditory. She's sorta odd, but very kind. She started calling me Bad Wolf. Said that wolves had really good hearing, and mated for life. I told her I wasn't _bad_ , but she said I was bad because I wasn't doing anything to get in touch with him.

”She explained that it took a long time for my mark to appear because he didn't get his mark at the same time, and it delayed the development of it. I suppose the jolt of hearing about his engagement finally did it." She looked down as she picked her fingers. "I told her that he was literally unavailable to me, but she kept saying that soulmates are _never_ unavailable. I ended up hanging up on her. 

"The next week was horrible. My counselor called me twice a day, and sent me about a million text messages. I ignored them all, except once, when I told her to stop texting me. I was mean to my friends, and Martha even threatened to move out. So I gave in. I showed her the mark. She tried to convince me to get in touch with the palace, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I knew we could never be together. That the wedding was more important than me being happy.

"Not too long after that, the calls and texts stopped, and life returned to sorta normal, other than the throbbing headache and almost-constant pain. But then the impossible happened. My shop was chosen to do the flowers for the King's wedding. I have no idea who nominated me, either. I was told it's secret. And you can imagine how being chosen made me feel. It was misery. Torture."

"And just to confirm this point, you never tried to contact the palace?" Donna asked.

Rose shook her head. "No. Never. He's the King. I own a flower shop. He's marrying a _princess_ , and even if she is a shrew, she's still a princess. And the wedding was approved by Parliament. I knew I had no business marrying the King of Gallifrey, even if I am his soulmate."

“So what happened this morning?" asked Donna.

A small smile appeared on Rose's face. Her countenance relaxed. "I met him. In person. I met the King. Right in the palace kitchen. He kissed my hand, and I felt like I was in a fairytale. And then I felt this strange sensation in my neck, like a rubber band snapping, and then it was like I'd known him forever. We just fit together. I was nervous, of course, but we chatted and laughed. We also talked about serious things. You and Jack Harkness were there, too. That's for the statement, of course. Before breakfast, he stole the apple I was eating and he took a bite right out of it. And he nicked a slice of my toast. We kept scooting our chairs together, and then ended up holding hands. I don't even know when that happened. It just did. 

"And then he started complaining about a mosquito bite. And I knew. The itching was terrible for him. And then you took him out of the room to figure out what was going on."

"And what had happened?" Donna asked.

"He had a soulmark."

"And what happened when both you and the King found out?"

"Do I have to talk about this part?" Rose asked quietly.

"Yes, I need you to finish your statement."

Rose looked up at the ceiling and blinked away tears. "I didn't want to show him mine, but you insisted. So you showed it to him. Jack saw it too. But the King didn't want to know how I had marked him, and I didn't want to see it either. We talked for just a minute after you and Jack left the kitchen. We both agreed that..." she sobbed once. "We both knew that duty was more important that our personal happiness. And then we went our separate ways."

"Do you know where he is now?"

She shook her head. Tears were now streaming down her face.

"Is there anything else you'd like to add?"

Rose nodded, sniffed, and righted herself again. "I want the King… I want _John_ to know that I wish him every happiness. And that... and that I'm so sorry that we didn't find each other sooner. And I'm truly honoured to be his soulmate. I wouldn’t change that for the world.“

"Anything else?"

"No. That's all."

As soon as Donna ended the recording, Rose folded over and cried into her hands. Donna wrapped her arms around her new friend, and held her. 

"I suppose I understand where you're coming from, but you heard him back there in the kitchen. He doesn't care if someone is a commoner or wears a crown. To him, people are people."

"He just left me there, Donna," she cried. "He knew I was his soulmate, and he just left."

“When he’s scared, he runs. The two of you, back in the kitchen, you were so _natural_ with each other. And do you realise how much you were touching each other? There were a couple of times I think you both forgot that Jack and I were even in the kitchen. What happened between then and now?”

“When you figured it out, and when John, I mean, the King figured it out, it suddenly became so real. Until he knew, it was like a fairy tale. And for a while there, I really thought it would work out. But in the end, it was too good to be true."

“I’m not giving up on the two of you.”

“I appreciate that, Donna. Really I do. But I don’t want to think about it. I need to do the flowers. I’m really behind schedule, and Lady O’Brien’s gonna have my head.”

Donna sighed. “Seeing those flowers will make it real to you, Rose. And maybe then you’ll come to your senses.”

“Please, Donna. I don’t want to talk about it any more. Just take me to the Abbey, okay?”

Donna nodded. “But just so you know, I’m going to nag you — and I’m quite talented at nagging — until you come to your senses and claim what’s yours.”

“Blimey, you’re bossy.”

“Lee likes it.” Donna winked.

Rose spewed a watery laugh.

oOo

John sprinted across the manicured lawn, through a copse of trees, and up a small hill until he reached a round building. He entered a code onto a keypad, and opened the door. Once inside, he closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. The daylight had burned his eyes. His skin prickled. The smell of the fir trees assaulted his nose. And then there was that wolf. That sound of that bloody wolf howling was deafening. He flipped a switch to turn on the lights. The dim lighting within his small observatory calmed him. Daylight prevented him from seeing the stars through the telescope, but he did feel a bit more comfortable in the place, away from his kingly duties and the intense discomfort being separated from the love of his life.

Jack knocked on the door. He always knocked the same rhythm, their secret code from childhood. 

“How’d you find me?” he asked flatly.

“You really think I wouldn’t know where you’d run off to? You’ve been coming here since you were ten when you wanted to get away.”

John grunted.

“You can’t run away from this, Doc. If you marry Jeanne Antoinette you’ll be miserable the rest of your life.”

“I am the King. I can’t put my personal happiness before the good of the country.”

“Stop being so melodramatic.”

“Parliament has already signed the marriage order.”

“We’ve already gone public with this. Donna’s already sent a picture of Rose’s soul mark to the media, and I’ve notified PM Jones. We’ll take pictures of the two of you and your marks and leak them to the press and tabloids and then I’ll call an official press conference. We’ll get the two of you on television. Harriet will fight for you. She was never in favor of this marriage. And according to an opinion poll this morning, now 98% of the country doesn't approve. They will be behind you and Rose.”

“I know all of that!” shouted John. “But we’ve made treaties and trade agreements! The financial and political repercussions would—” 

“Nothing that can’t be worked out. And John, this is what you’ve always wanted. And you know this is what your parents wanted for you, too. Don’t waste this chance. Grab it.”

John ran both of his hands down his face, and then through his hair. “Give me some time, please? I need to be alone for a while.”

“Just think about it.” Jack left, quietly closing the door behind him.

oOo

The Abbey was resplendent. Traditionally, when a wedding was held at the Abbey, there was very little adornment. The cathedral was grand enough on its own. But Princess Jeanne Antoinette had insisted.

“A flower bomb went off in here, no offense, Rose. Your arrangements are beyond amazing.”

“Thanks,” Rose said quietly. “But like I said in the kitchen, no matter my opinion, it’s the bride’s choice. It’s my job to make sure she gets what she wants.” 

“And wouldn’t be _your_ choice.”

“No.” Rose subtly adjusted the placement of a bloom.

“And it obviously isn’t the King’s choice, either.”

“Please stop, Donna. I know what you’re doing. I’m feeling horrible enough as it is. Don’t make it any worse.”

“Donna! Donna!” Astrid Peth, the floral liaison shouted as she ran on four inch heels. She gasped for breath. "The Princess's wedding planner! Lady Cassandra O’Brien! She’s furious!”

“What the bloody hell now.” Donna looked up into the cavernous ceiling.

“The gardenias — she’s insisting that they were supposed to be _dipped_ in gold, not _edged_ in gold leaf.”

“No, that’s not true.” Rose shook her head, looking away from the arrangement on a tall, sterling silver candle-stand at the end of a pew.

“She’s in a state. Yelling at everyone,” Astrid panicked.

Rose rubbed her temples with her pointer fingers. "Chip, Lady O’Brien's assistant, told me that she understood the impossibility of her plan for the gardenias.” Rose sighed.

“You!” An accented voice echoed throughout the Abbey. “Flower girl!” A woman in an impeccably tailored ivory suit strutted on golden-toned stiletto heels towards Rose. “You have ruined the wedding! Flowers are the single-most important thing in Her Highness’s life! She lives for her gardens! And you have single-handedly destroyed our vision!”

Rose looked back and forth at her allies.

“What do you have to say for yourself, hmm?” Lady O'Brien crossed her arms and tapped her long varnished fingernail on her arm.

“Lady O’Brien, your representative was at all of the meetings, and you were at most of them. We went over the flowers about a dozen times. I even had Chip let you know, one last time, that dipping them was impossible, and you said you understood—“

“I don’t _care_ what you _think_ I said. The edges of the gardenia petals were to be _dipped_ in gold. Gold leaf is simply not acceptable! You have six hours before the crème de la crème of the world begin to arrive. These abominations that you dare to call floral arrangements _will_ be corrected!"

“With all due respect, _Cassandra_ ,” Rose said, stepping away from Donna and Astrid, “I would have _never_ agreed to gold-dipped gardenias. It’s impossible. It can’t be done. And I told you that about a million times. There is _no way_ that gardenias would hold up to being dipped in _molten_ gold. They’d burn up, and even if for some magical reason they didn’t burn up, they’d collapse under the weight! It doesn’t even make sense!”

“Why you little—“ The bride’s wedding planner lunged for Rose, but Donna caught her in time to hold her back.

“Ianto!” yelled Astrid. “Get in here!”

Ianto strode in tapping on his small tablet computer. “Ms. Peth, it’s not proper to raise your voice in Arcadia Abbey. What’s happening in here?”

“This _child_ has ruined the wedding! The flowers are a disgrace!” hissed Cassandra.

“Ruined? You can't be serious!” countered Rose. “I did exactly what you agreed to! And I worked bloody hard on ‘em, too.”

“Lady O’Brien,” began Ianto calmly, “please tell me your concerns.”

“These flowers may be adequate for a commoner’s wedding, but they are unsuitable for royalty! They were to be dipped in gold, not edged in gold foil. It’s tacky. The future Queen will be furious!” 

Rose closed her eyes, held her breath, and gritted her teeth.

“So as I understand, it would appear that there was a miscommunication about the details of the gilding. But the arrangements still reflect the Princess's aesthetic," Ianto stated.

“I really wish I’d never been chosen for this job,” Rose said under her breath, arms crossed.

"You know, why are we even here talking about bloody... FLOWERS! Rose! You. Are. His. Soulmate! And no offence Rose, but Cassandra can stick every one of these gilded gardenias where the sun don't shine!"

"Why! I--" gasped Cassandra.

“Donna Noble! You will explain yourself!” ordered Ianto.

“How dare you make the claim that this… this… _mere human girl_ is the soulmate to the King of Gallifrey! When his true bride — a _royal woman_ is preparing right now to be Queen!” Cassandra bellowed.

“I'll prove it!” Donna shouted.

“Donna, no!” Rose pled.

But it was too late. The royal seal of King John X of Gallifrey was revealed.

“She has his soulmark! It's the King’s own seal!” Astrid screeched.

Cassandra gasped, and reeled backwards. “No! It isn’t possible! Princess Jeanne Antoinette is the rightful Queen!”

Astrid planted a fist on one hip. “The King doesn’t deserve to be chained to that bloody awful princess of yours! He’s good and kind and everyone here in the Gallifrey wants him to be happy. And he’s been miserable.”

“The insolence! The disrespect! This would never stand in Versaillia! All of you would already be on your way to the guillotine!”

“Yeah, and this ain’t Versaillia, sunshine. It’s Gallifrey," proclaimed Donna, proudly.

Ianto, who had been standing off to the side observing, nodded quietly, a small smile appearing. "May I take a look at it, please?"

“See?” This time, Astrid spun Rose around, and Donna lifted her hair.

“Bloody hell, woman! You're soulmarked with His Royal Highness’s seal! You _are_ his soulmate!" Ianto exclaimed, breaking his usual calm, controlled demeanour. He tapped furiously on his tablet.

"Ianto Jones, I don't think I have ever heard you swear as long as I have known you!" Donna grinned.

“Ms. Tyler, why are you still here arranging these ridiculous gilded gardenias? You should be with your soulmate!“ Ianto exclaimed.

“Oh, you fools,” Cassandra said with ice in her voice. “My Princess _will_ be Queen, and nothing is going to stop this wedding.” The woman left the Abbey without looking back. 

“Ianto, Rose here and that dumbo, His Royal Highness, are being too stubborn to do anything about it. The King says it’s his royal _duty_ to go through with the wedding, and Rose says her happiness isn’t as important as the future of the country.”

“Oh, you are both wrong. Very wrong. In fact, it’s his duty to _not_ go through with this wedding.” Ianto smiled and tapped on his tablet.

“What do you mean?” Donna asked.

“I took my PhD at Queen's College. My dissertation was on royal history, law, and protocol. Gallifreyan law states that if the King is soulmated, he _must_ marry his soulmate. It’s been the law since 1646. Right before the Dark Times, King Chesterton II was soulmated to a woman named Barbara Coal. She was a commoner.” Ianto looked at Rose. “His council of advisors refused to allow them to marry, as he was betrothed to a princess by the name of Romana from the neighboring kingdom. But Princess Romana was soulmated as well, and refused to marry King Chesterton.”

Protectively, Donna and Astrid each put an arm around Rose and nestled into her sides.

“King Chesterton abdicated the throne and ran off with Barbara. They were never heard from again. Legend says they lived happy, content, and humble lives as teachers in a remote village.”

“Rani II was the first queen of the Dark Times, yeah?” asked Rose.

“You are correct, Ms. Tyler. There was a power struggle to fill the vacuum left by King Chesterton’s abdication. Many died, and Queen Rani II emerged victorious. She was cruel and power hungry, and her reign was dominated by war. She tried to conquer the entire continent. Those who followed her were even more cruel. And then came King Daniel the Warrior. He was a good man. He had proven himself honourable in the final war of the Dark Times, and brokered a peace. He found his soulmate, Clara, and she too was a commoner. Ironically Clara was also a teacher, like Barbara. Again, the King threatened to abdicate should he be forbidden from marrying Clara. But this time, his council of advisors listened. The Soulmate Act of 1646 was written into law.”

“I should’ve paid closer attention in history class,” said Donna.

“You wouldn’t have been taught about the Act. Remember, this was the Dark Times. It was lost to history, but I was very thorough when I wrote my dissertation, and found the Act buried in the royal archives. Most marriages have been purely political, and the execution of the Act has never been necessary. There were a few marriages between soulmates, but they were always between royals. Most monarchs simply didn’t care. Their intendeds just wanted to be married to the king or queen, to enjoy the perks of being royal. I doubt anyone in Parliament is even aware of the Act. It’s never been an issue.” Ianto smiled softly. “But now it is.” He handed his tablet to Rose. "Read it yourself."

Rose furrowed her brow as she read through the text of the Soulmate Act. "I don't get half of it, the language is so old, but I do get the idea."

“And there you have it. It’s the law. It’s your _duty_ as a citizen of Gallifrey,” said Donna.

“Yes, Rose. You have to! Please. For all of us,” Astrid begged.

Rose chewed on her fingernail. And then she heard the wolf howling. Her eyes sprang open. “Bad Wolf Girl…” she breathed. “I’m Bad Wolf Girl! And you know what? Wolves mate for life!"

“What does that wolf have to do with this?” asked Donna.

“Idris, my soulmate counselor, kept calling me Bad Wolf Girl.”

“No. WAY!” Donna bellowed. “Idris is your soulmate counselor! She’s _John’s_ soulmate counselor! It’s a sign.“

Jack ran to them from the rear of the Abbey. "Thanks for texting me, Yan.”

"My pleasure, Mr. Harkness.”

Rose looked and forth between Donna, Astrid, Ianto, and Jack a few times, and then breathed in and out deeply. “Okay. I’m convinced."

"Thatagirl!" Jack grabbed her face with two hands, and kissed her hard on the lips. "Congratulations, sweetheart."

“Mr. Harkness, the first order of business is to inform Prime Minister Jones that Saxon's Marriage Act will be satisfied presently, but not through marriage to the Princess. The Royalty Soulmate Act of 1646 trumps the marriage agreement that Parliament ratified. Ms. Noble had the foresight to obtain a recorded statement from Rose.”

Jack kissed Donna hard, just like he’d kissed Rose. “Donna, send that statement to me and I’ll forward it to PM Jones. She’ll make sure someone in Parliament gets it because she can’t present evidence. And as soon as Rose here drags John back to the palace from his hideout in that observatory of his, you need to take pictures of their soulmarks and send them to all of your official contacts -- and your unofficial ones, too. We need this on the news. GBC is already got its live coverage of the wedding up and going, and the world is watching. We need to use them to our full advantage. Also get it out on the Internet. Twitter. Tumblr. Facebook. Instagram. Send pictures and info to the tabs. Astrid, start telling everyone on staff. If Cassandra tries to pull anything here in the palace, we’ll have an entire palace full of people ready to tie her to a tree.”

“What about me?” asked Rose.

“Rose, it’s time for you to go and claim your mate.” Jack smiled. “You're going to have to explain the Royalty Soulmate Act to him. If anything, knowing that the law says he _has_ to marry his soulmate will speak to his sense of honour and duty. But honestly, I think you coming to get him will be enough. He won’t be able to resist you this time. I just got back from talking to him, and he is miserable.“

She closed her eyes. “Royalty Soulmate Act of 1446--"

"1646," corrected Ianto. "If you tell him about King Chesterton and his soulmate, Barbara, that'll be enough."

"But I have no idea where the observatory is," said Rose.

Jack laughed. "Y’know, you could probably follow his scent, because damn! Does he need a shower! And wolves do have a keen sense of smell.”

Rose laughed through watery eyes. “That’s what Idris said.”

"You need a pair of comfortable shoes and some better clothes. Don’t want you to ruin that pretty frock of yours. Follow me to the wardrobe room.” Astrid hooked her arm through Rose’s, and they began to jog away.

“Wait, Rose! Quick! Let me take a picture of that gorgeous mark of yours!” Donna pulled out her mobile.

oOo

“Prime Minister Jones, I’m so sorry to bother you at home. You need to check your email. There is an urgent message from Mr. Harkness for your eyes only.”

“I’m just about to leave for the palace, Sarah Jane," Harriet sighed. "And I have a blasting headache. Please. Can’t it wait until after the wedding ceremony?”

“No. It really can’t. Mr. Harkness assured me that it was of the utmost importance.”

“Very well then. Thank you for alerting me.” Harriet Jones ended the call, and went to her home office.

_PM J - Ianto Jones, the Royal Protocol guy, knows a way to stop the wedding. Legally. Really old law on the books that says if King or Queen finds his or her soulmate, they are forbidden to NOT marry. Well, they've found each other. She’s the florist. See pics attached. Click here to read the text of the law. - Jack._

She typed her reply as quickly as she could. _Mr. Harkness - Received your correspondence. Will have law reviewed ASAP and will proceed immediately. Will keep you updated. And I’m thrilled beyond words! - PM J_

“Oh this is such good news!” exclaimed Harriet as she called her assistant back. “Sarah Jane,” she said into the telephone, “Did you get the link I just sent you?”

“Got it.” Sarah Jane gasped. “Oh! This is just wonderful!”

“Please initiate the emergency recall protocol to inform all members that I am convening an emergency session of Parliament at ten o'clock sharp -- that's in one hour. The wedding is in less than five hours time, and it must be stopped.”


	9. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At last they come to their senses...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, but I don't think you'll complain too much.

“Mickey! Where the _hell_ have you been?” Rose whisper-yelled, anxiously pulling on a pair of plimsolls that Astrid had found in the staff wardrobe room.

“Why you wearin' jeans and pink pumps? Where’s your posh clothes? Never mind, tell me later, ‘cos ya gotta hear this! I got recruited to try and catch that wolf that’s been running amok. This place is amazing! Huge! They have their own lake, and one of them hedge mazes. And indoor and outdoor swimming pools. Archery range, cricket pitch, even a private airstrip. And there’s a giant telescope up on a hill. I tried to ring you, but you ain’t been answering my calls or texts.”

Rose hastily unpinned her half-up hairdo, her scalp hyper-sensitive from the tight upsweep. She pressed her fingertips to her scalp for a moment to soothe the tension, and then ran her fingers through her hair until it was in soft waves framing her face. 

“He found out,” she rushed. “King John found out that we’re soulmates. And his mark appeared. And there’s this really old law that says if he knows who his soulmate is, he _has_ to marry me, and Jack’s doing what he can to stop the wedding — even calling the PM. And Donna interviewed me for an official statement that's gonna get sent to Parliament."

“Slow down. Did you say the King and you — he knows?”

Rose nodded. “I need to go to him, Micks. And please stop shouting. Sounds like a footie match in here."

“Who are Jack and Donna?” he asked more quietly.

Rose took a few deep breaths. “Donna is his best mate and also his PA, and Jack, well, I don’t really know what Jack does. But he’s got connections. Met ‘em when I ended up having breakfast with the King in the kitchen.”

“This is mental. You had breakfast with the King of Gallifrey.”

“I know!” she gushed, but then groaned at the sound of her own voice.

He screwed up his face. "What'd you have to eat?"

"Really?" Rose asked. "You want to know what we had for brekkie?"

"Well, yeah." He shrugged a shoulder.

"Cheese omelette, toast, tea, and a pineapple banana smoothie," she said through a grin. “And an apple.”

Mickey shrugged again. “Wow. That’s sorta normal. I'd have thought the King would eat something more posh like champagne and caviar.”

“For breakfast? Eww! John's a normal bloke, Mickey. Seriously."

"Oh, so it's John now," he smirked. "How'd it happen?"

“Donna took me in the kitchen to get a bite to eat, ‘cos I almost fainted when I saw him. From the shock, I think. And he was already in there. He kissed my hand, all chivalrous-like. And then he started complaining about his neck itching just like mine did. He thought he’d gotten a bug bite when he was out for a run this morning."

"He goes running? Like for exercise?"

"Honestly Mickey! Like I said, he's just a normal man!"

"Who happens to run a country and live in a palace and wear a crown. So why you in here wearing jeans and a t-shirt? Shouldn’t the two of you be living happily ever after or something?”

She sighed and looked down. "He ran off within a minute or two of us figuring it out. We'd had this fantastic morning together talking and eating, and then the mark appeared and he took off."

“I don’t know that I wouldn’ta run off too. Helluva shock, don’t you think? Finding your soulmate on the day of your wedding. A wedding that’s gonna be shown on telly in every country on the planet.”

“I don’t care about the telly.” She stood from the bench, placed her dress shoes in one of the staff wardrobe room lockers, and then zipped up the blue hoodie that Astrid had loaned her. “I'm gonna go and get him. I’ve decided I won’t just sit back and watch this happen. We _both_ deserve to be happy. And if I fail, I’ll know that at least I tried." She smiled brightly. “So, you said you found his observatory. Do you remember how to get to that telescope?”

“Sure.”

“Walk me?”

"Yes, m'lady," Mickey said, bowing low, and offering his arm. Rose smiled looped hers through.

oOo

"Craig, this is Joan. Have you left for Parliament?"

"Not yet. Sophie can't get Alfie to stop crying, and the childminder is late, and there's something about her hat not being posh enough for the wedding and--"

"Tell her to not worry about the hat because I have just received a most promising email from the PM. I'm about two blocks from your flat. I'll pick you up and we will discuss strategy along the way."

"What's this emergency session about anyway?" Craig asked as he fiddled with his tie.

"I can't say anything on an unsecured line, but Saxon just might have a coronary when he finds out."

"I like the sound of that!" He hung up. "Sophie sweetheart!" MP Craig Owens hollered up stairs, "Joan Redfern is going to be here in a couple minutes to pick me up for the emergency session. I'll text you as soon as I know something!"

"Bye! Tell Joan I said hello," his wife yelled over the crying of their six month old son.

"Hugs and kisses! Wish me luck!"

oOo

"Lord Lumic, why in the world has that damn woman called this damn special session on the day of the wedding?" MP Lazarus bellowed as he walked into Lumic's office in the Parliament building.

"There has been a disturbing development. Our dear King has apparently found his soulmate." Lumic took a slow sip of brandy.

Mr. Lazarus sat down and lit a cigar. "There is a marriage order already in place. Legally, he must marry the Princess, true love or not. Soulmates. What sentimental, old-fashioned rot.”

"That is how I see it as well, but there will be those who differ in opinion. Vocal members of Parliament who have sway and influence."

"So how is this a problem other than a possible increase in public sentiment that already exists against this marriage?" 

"In addition to this soulmate foolishness, there is a legal impediment. An ridiculously anachronistic law has been found that certain members claim nullifies the marriage order. As far as I can tell, we still outnumber the dissenters. But I'm not taking any chances. This alliance with Versaillia must stand."

"Well then. We will do what we must to ensure the marriage proceeds." 

"Indeed." Lord Lumic lifted his glass, and Lazarus puffed on his cigar.

oOo 

Rose stood outside of the observatory, alternating between picking her fingernails and chewing her lip.

"Micks, would you go find Donna Noble? Let her know where I am? She's got gorgeous ginger hair. You'll probably hear her before you see her. But anyone will know who she is."

"Yeah. Good luck, babes."

Rose sighed in relief when Mickey pulled her into a hug. They stood in each other's comforting arms for a minute. 

"It's gonna work out. I told you it would."

"Thanks, Mickey. For believing in me." She kissed him on the cheek, and hugged Mickey one last time before he left. 

She turned to the door, stood statue-still, hand poised to knock. After a cleansing, calming breath, she rapped three times. The lock snicked, and the door creaked open. 

His hair was a mess, he was still wearing his running clothes, and he was squinting against the light.

"Hello," Rose said quietly.

"Hello," John replied. He opened the door, and ushered her in, closing the door and locking it behind him. The room was dim. The only illumination came from the mesmerising screen savers of swirling galaxies and supernovas on a few computers, and a control panel covered with softly glowing buttons, dials, and gauges.

"So..." they said in tandem. Rose laughed quietly, and John smiled down at her. 

Rose tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, and then reached for his hand. He took it without hesitation and squeezed. Rose relaxed somewhat, and took a step closer.

"I wasn't sure if I'd ever see you again," he said quietly, looking down at their joined hands.

She lifted her head and looked into his eyes. "I couldn't stay away. That and Donna knocked some sense into me."

He chuckled. "She has a talent for that. How'd you find me?"

"Jack told me you were here, but even if Jack hadn't said anything, I think I would've figured it out when I found out you had an observatory.”

They both stood, shuffling their feet for a minute.

"I've decided not to give up," blurted out Rose. "It isn't right. And there's this law that Ianto Jones told us about. The Royalty Soulmate Act of..." she closed her eyes to help her remember, "1646. And it says that if a king or queen finds his or her soulmate, they have to marry. They can't _not_ get married. And even if there wasn't a law, I'm pretty sure I would have come to my senses on my own. We are _soulmates_ , John. Hardly anyone gets that chance, and--"

He touched his fingers to her lips to gently silence her. "I came to the same conclusion. I can't marry her. Id’ve hidden out up here until next week if I had to. This place is lined with six inch thick steel. Was a bomb shelter during the Blitz. No one could get in."

Rose smiled up at him. “I’d have kept you company."

He ushered her over to a pair of rolling office chairs near one of the computer stations. "Isn't very comfortable in here, I'm afraid. Couple of chairs, a little fridge, microwave, and an army cot. It's a working observatory, and I'm always up here alone. I'm sorry, but these chairs are the best I can do."

"No! Don't be sorry, It's brilliant. Look at this place." Rose turned the chair 360 degrees, looking up and around.

"You like it?"

"I love it," she said breathily. "I may not understand much about science and space, but I love the stars. Like I said back in the kitchen, I'd always wanted to take your course.”

"You sure it isn't 'cos I'm foxy? Or you wanted to get a shot with the future king of Gallifrey?"

Rose rolled her eyes, but laughed. "You think you're so impressive."

"Oh, I _am_ impressive." He waggled his eyebrows.

Rose smiled, biting the side of her lip. "And I suppose now, well, I'm gonna get to find out just how impressive you are, yeah?"

"Oh, yes." John held out his hand, wiggling his fingers.

Again, she slipped her hand into his. With a tug, he pulled her wheeled chair close to his, and they bumped together with a thunk. Both cringed at the sound and feeling.

"So what's with this sensitivity to light and sound?" John asked.

"Donna said it happens during the first few hours of soulmating. Everything's gonna be more intense for a while. She said that newly joined soulmates usually stick close until it passes." Rose looked over at the cot nestled against the wall. "Um, she mentioned something that might help." She blushed, but John couldn't see it in the darkness. “Just for a cuddle. She said it helps.”

John pulled her off of her chair, and led her to the low, humble resting place. Rose took off the hoodie, and then lowered herself onto the dark green, stretched canvas and pushed her back flush to the wall. John joined her on the tiny cot and draped his arm over her waist. 

They both sighed, feeling relief.

“It doesn't hurt as much. All I can feel is you," she whispered, cupping his cheek.

He rubbed a circle in the small of her back, and then pulled her closer still. "Eventually, I think I would've gone mad." He pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, and closed his eyes.

They felt at peace, holding each other in the dark on that too-small cot. Their breathing was measured, quiet, and in sync. She heard his heartbeat against her ear as she nestled into his chest. He felt her chest rising and falling under the palm of his hand pressed to her back. They remained in this place of perfect contentment, their heightened senses calming, their bodies and minds attuning to each other more and more by the minute. And when they both roused from their state of half-sleep, they felt refreshed and rested.

"How long were we out?" Rose said, yawning lazily.

"Half an hour at the most. It's nine forty-two."

Rose propped herself up on her elbow. "I haven't felt this good in a year. Maybe ever. Think I made up for all thirty-six hours without sleep in those thirty minutes."

“Never underestimate the power of a good snuggle, Rose Tyler.“

"Yeah," she said, settling back into his arms.

"I do some of my best thinking here in this old place.” He ran his hand through the silky strands of her hair. “After my parents died, I came here. I thought about the good people that they were. How much I'd miss them. How they always wanted the best for me, even if it was the harder way. 

“And I came up here after the engagement was announced. All I could think was how mad I was in myself. I wondered how in the world I'd found myself stuck in that marriage.”

“So you came here today.”

“Of course. And I sat here trying to distract myself by looking at star charts, but I couldn't stop thinking about you. How you came into my life just in the nick of time. You saved me, Rose Tyler. How could I ever turn my back on that?"

"You can't. And neither can I. So we're going to figure this out together, yeah? And if it means running off and locking ourselves in up here in your amazing observatory, then I'm in. You can't marry her, John. You just can't. And not only because we're soulmates, but because I won't sit back and know you’ll be in pain for the rest of your life. I won't let it happen. I’m ready to fight for you."

The fierceness behind her words left John speechless for a moment. He swallowed hard. "I'm _so_ sorry I ran away."

"Well, we will just have to make up for lost time." She smiled, her tongue peeking between her teeth.

He smiled into her hair. "I'm so glad I met you."

"Me too."

John cupped the back of her head and kissed her softly and sweetly. 

She smiled and rubbed his nose with hers. "So, um, can I, you know, see it? Your soulmark?"

"Of course. You did give it to me, after all." He turned so his back was to her.

“This is so strange, being able to see in the dark.” She drew in a breath. "It's a wolf."

"May I see yours again?" he asked.

"Yeah," she nodded, and then turned to face the wall.

He brushed her hair aside. “May I touch it?" John asked like a shy school boy.

"Please." 

She shivered as his fingertip traced the shimmering, circling path of the lines. "Oh!" she squeaked.

He snatched his hand away. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to hurt you." 

She cleared her throat. "Definitely didn't hurt. It's a bit... sensitive." She closed her eyes. "Very, _very_ sensitive."

"Ooooh," he mouthed in sudden realisation.

"Can I touch yours?" Rose asked shyly.

He nodded silently. 

Like he had done, she traced the shape of the mark. 

He jumped. "OH! OOH! Yep," he said in a voice far higher than normal. "That's not... not something... you should do to me in public."

Rose spewed a laugh. "No, I suppose not. But... we could, I don't know, do it in private? I mean if it feels good to you, 'cos it feels good to me."

A wicked grin overtook his face. "Oh yes. Very good. Very, very good. And we will do it. Often."

His eyes dodged to her lips, and he pulled her into a tongue-tangling, toe-curling kiss. She threaded her fingers through his hair and massaged and tugged as he pulled her hips into his, holding them firmly. And then they both moved one hand to the other's neck and teased the marks until they were both moaning into each other's mouths, panting and begging for more. The marks warmed to the touch and their minds began to surge with growing feelings of intense pleasure and warmth and joy until they both gasped, panting for air, ears ringing, eyes dilated and fixed on each other.

"That..." John rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, his breathing still laboured.

Rose covered her mouth and laughed.

"I think... that's brilliant," John finally said after calming himself.

"You sure the door's locked?" Rose said huskily. He rolled back to face her, and tugged at her leg, hooking it over his. 

"The assembled hordes of Genghis--"

"John! Rose!" Donna pounded on the heavy metal door. "I know you're awfully busy being all lovey-dovey in there, but I need you to come up for air."

Rose laughed, and then John kissed her hard one more time before he pulled her off of the cot, to the door, and then opened it.

"Sorry to break up this party, but I need to take some pictures. We've leaked info to the press about the two of you. It’s all over social media. And Parliament is going into special session in about five minutes, and the GBC is asking for photos."

“Donna Noble. Best PA in Gallifrey,” he said proudly.

“Thank you, Your Highness. Told you I was the best, didn't I, Rose? Come on then, time to come out of that space box of his. And sorry about the light. I know it's probably searing holes in your eyeballs, and I'll try to speak softly but I'm too excited.”

“I feel fine, Donna. Thanks for the advice. You know, about… holding hands.”

Donna rolled her eyes. “Holding hands. Pull the other one, why don’t you. John, do something about your hair, and Rose, tuck in your shirt. Turn around, let me look at those soulmarks. Oh, for heaven's sake, the two of you are being bloody teenagers!" Donna groaned. “We'll have to do pictures facing the camera first. Let those marks of yours calm down a bit. Like two neon signs that say _Snog! Snog! Snog!_ " She flashed her fingers.

Rose barked a laugh, and John cringed. "What?" he squeaked. 

Donna made an exasperated sound. "First Rose didn't know about the sensitivity thing, and now you two don't know about this.” She smiled wickedly. “I’ll get you book on the birds and bees for soulmates. I suppose it's to be expected, considering the most action the King here has gotten since he was fifteen was when we played spin the bottle at my birthday party, and he ended up in the cupboard with that Leela girl. If I remember correctly, she was pretty aggressive.”

"Kill me now," he mumbled.

"Oh, come here, you,” Donna said fondly pulling him into a side hug. "I'm so happy for you. I'm thrilled you and Rose found each other. But if we're going to stop this wedding, we have lots to do. Now smile for the camera!"

Rose and John struck several casual poses; Rose put both of her arms around him and rested her head on his shoulder; John held both of her hands, smiling at her in awe; and they simply holding hands, sitting on a bench by the lake. A few minutes later, Donna took pictures of their soulmarks, proudly displayed for the whole world to see.

"And... send!" Donna grinned and wiggled her fingers. "Oh I wish I could see the look on _that woman’s_ face when she sees the two of you together!"

oOo

The shouting match between the members of Parliament was deafening. Debate had been going on for an hour. The split of opinion did not fall along party lines, nor did status as aristocrat or commoner matter. Those who had never voted the same were now allies, and long-time political allies were on opposite sides of the ancient chamber. The divide remained close with forty-seven favouring revocation, and fifty-two for upholding the marriage order. Duke Saxon, of course, had to abstain from the vote, leaving an uneven number. This would guarantee no tie to deadlock the session.

“It is _imperative_ that this marriage proceed! In an overwhelming show of support, the Official Order of Marriage was ratified four months ago! There has been more than enough time to address this issue! And yet here we are debating mere hours before the wedding!” Lord Lumic pounded his fist on the railing.

“51% passage is _hardly_ a mandate, Lord Lumic,” countered MP Craig Owens, the youngest Member of Parliament.

MP Yvonne Hartman stood. “Lord Lumic, I suggest you calm yourself. I’d hate to see you suffer a stroke. And Lord Lumic is correct. All due diligence was performed. No hinderances were determined. The Order must stand.” 

“No hinderances were found because none yet existed to be found, Ms. Hartman. But now there _is_ a legal hinderance! The law is the law is the law, unless the law is changed. And the Soulmate Act of 1646 is, in fact, the law! And there is no compelling reason to change that law!” MP Owens shouted. "And we are not here to debate the validity of the Royalty Soulmate Act of 1646! We are here to vote on the motion currently on the floor, whether or not to dissolve the _now-illegal_ Order of Marriage!" 

“Well said, lad! Well said!” enthused Lord Copper. “The foundation of this country is built upon the law. Our purpose is to uphold the law when it is just, and strike it down when it is unjust. There is nothing unlawful about His Royal Highness enjoying a bit of joy and happiness, now is there? In fact, wouldn’t you say that a happy King is a wise and good King?”

“That is sentimental rubbish, Lord Copper. The Royalty Soulmate Act of 1646 is anachronistic, foolish, and should have been repealed two hundreds of years ago!” Lumic lectured. “Emotion has no business dictating international affairs. The political alliances cemented through royal marriage always supersede human affection. All is _not_ fair in love and war — and especially not in geopolitics and the financial stability of our country,” he said with a menacing fire in his eyes.

"And what do we know of this commoner, Rose Tyler? Nearly nothing.” Lumic continued. “We know that she is an orphaned shop owner who was born and raised in a rough part of the city with an apparent talent for selling posies. 

“In stark contrast, The Crown Princess Jeanne Antoinette of Versaillia is our King's equal in every way. This Tyler girl is not an appropriate match for the King of Gallifrey! The Princess was bred for this eventuality. It is her destiny. She has been groomed her entire life to be a queen. Ms. Tyler is a common chav from south of the river. The Princess is perfection!” Lumic raised a fist proclaiming victory. 

PM Joan Redfern sprang to her feet. “That is classist…” she bit her tongue. “Classist rot! I demand that you apologise to all of us _commoners_!”

“I am so sorry if I have offended your _common_ sensibilities, Mrs. Redfern.”

The woman seethed and her supporters jeered the man on the other side of the chamber. 

“Mind the Parliamentary rules of propriety and respect, Lord Lumic,” said PM Jones.

MP Lazarus, who was seated next to MP Lumic, interrupted. "Honoured members, Lords, and Ladies. In my hand, I have a sworn affidavit from a tattooist who works south of the river, in the very neighbourhood in which Ms. Tyler lives. Mr. Davy Ross states that he tattooed the soulmark on this usurper’s neck over one year ago. Ms. Tyler is not only a fraud, but an enemy of the crown. She may very well be an agent of the anti-monarchist movement. They will stop at nothing to end the monarchy. She could be their pawn in an elaborate scheme to overthrow the monarchy. And to perhaps even assassinate His Royal Highness King John!"

Shouting and fist-shaking ensued, and PM Jones slammed her gavel for over a minute. "Order! ORDER! I will not allow unsubstantiated accusations to be made about Ms. Tyler! Now," she calmed herself, "we will continue debate in an orderly and dignified fashion."

"Madam Prime Minister, I have _three_ properly authenticated affidavits," said MP Redfern, waving the documents above her head. "The King’s own personal assistant, Ms. Donna Noble, testifies that she was present as the mark began to materialise, and saw it on King John’s neck within moments of its permanent appearance, _and_ that it did so within minutes of meeting Ms. Tyler this morning. She saw an immediate change in the King’s behaviour and state of mind. He had been agitated and discouraged in the months since the engagement, but this morning, he was relaxed, friendly, jovial, and openly affectionate to Ms. Tyler. The King’s Parliamentary Llaison, Mr. Jack Harkness, was present as well and has offered to give a sworn a statement as well. Further, both witnesses state that Ms. Tyler's mark is most definitely real and of natural origin. A tattoo does not _shimmer_ , Mr. Lazarus. 

"I also have the sworn affidavit from Ms. Tyler’s flatmate, Dr. Martha Jones. Dr. Jones was with Ms. Tyler on the day that the mark began to manifest, and states that Ms. Tyler did _not_ know what was happening. In fact, Ms. Tyler believed it was a mosquito bite, or a rash. Dr. Jones has witnessed Ms. Tyler's distress over the past year, and only in hindsight does Dr. Jones now understand that the mental and physical pain that her flat mate has suffered was a direct result of Ms. Tyler _not_ being with her soulmate. Dr. Jones was one of only two people to whom Ms. Tyler confided her secret before it was made known to the King.

"And finally, there is the sworn statement of Ms. Tyler herself. Donna Noble took the sworn statement of Ms. Tyler one hour after the King and Ms. Tyler met for the first time. A paper transcript of the video recording has been provided to each of you, and the video is available for download on the Parliamentary server. I respectfully request that you either read the statement, or with headphones, watch the recording.”

"Ten minutes to study the statement," announced the Parliamentary secretary. 

The time passed to the sound of rustling papers, and quiet whispering. Near the end of the allotted time, Lord Harry Sullivan stood up, marched from one side of the chamber to the other, defecting in support of dissolving the official marriage order.

The PM banged the gavel, signalling the end of the allotted time. 

MP Redfern stood. "As you now know, the development of Ms. Tyler's soulmark was only complete on the day of the engagement, and Ms. Tyler waited a full week before contacting a soulmate counselor, and Ms. Tyler did _not_ disclose to whom she was mated to her counselor. It was a full week after _that_ that she told her best friend and roommate, Dr. Jones. 

"Ms. Tyler has never made an effort to contact the palace, let alone the King. Today was the first time that anyone within the palace was aware of the situation. Ms. Noble and Mr. Harkness state that Ms. Tyler even refused to show the King the mark! And it was Ms. Noble, _not_ Ms. Tyler, who was the one who lifted the woman's hair, revealing it to the King. Does that sound like the behaviour of a greedy girl, or a _traitor_ trying to ensnare or heaven forbid, harm King John?" MP Redfern's face was flushed, and her chest was heaving after her impassioned speech.”

MP Yvonne Hartman stood to the rail. “Mrs. Redfern, while your arguments are compelling, Lord Lumic's original point still stands. The Soulmark Act is no longer relevant, and is in fact, harmful to Gallifrey,” she said smugly. “I make a motion for an immediate vote to repeal the Royalty Soulmate Act of 1646 for the greater good of King and Country.”

Shouts of “hear hear!” and angry fists pounded the wooden rails.

"95% of the citizens of this country oppose this marriage!" MP Redfern yelled above the din.

Lady Christine de Souza calmly stood, and waved her smartphone. "Actually, the most recent poll just this morning says that _98%_ do not support the marriage."

"Thank you, esteemed colleague across the gallery. Care to come over to our side?" Many on the anti-marriage side laughed. "Shouldn’t this overwhelming dissent be taken into consideration?" asked MP Owens. "Further, the common opinion of the fair citizens of Gallifrey should have been considered in the first place.!"

Lord Lumic leaned on the railing in front of him. His face was red, and the veins in his neck bulged. “Damn the commoners! _We_ know what is best!" 

The hall was silent.

"I do believe that all of us _commoners_ will remember your words, Lord Lumic. And while your membership in Parliament is based solely upon privilege and birthright, I do believe your approval rating just fell by, oh, 98%." Mrs. Redfern took her seat and folded her hands in her lap.

The room erupted in both protest and support. Those around MP Redfern clapped her on the back and shook her hand, while across the chamber, Lord Lumic’s neighbors bristled at their cohort.

PM Jones pounded her gavel. “Order! _Order_! Lord Lumic, you will cease your insults immediately! And Mr. Lazarus, I deny your frivolous request to repeal the Royalty Soulmate Act of 1646. It is time to vote on the grave matter at hand. It has been over fifty years since a Prime Minister has invoked Ministerial Privilege and made a motion for a vote. This could very well be a turning point in the history of this country. 

"I urge you to consider your vote carefully. Remember who you represent and serve: the people of the great Kingdom of Gallifrey. You are neither subject to Duke Harold Saxon, Earl of Oakdown, nor the King of Versaillia. Now. Everyone will be silent!” She paused until the din had settled into a nervous energy-charged quiet. “I hereby call for a vote to repeal, and thereby nullify, the Marriage Order of King John X of Gallifrey and Princess Jeanne Antoinette of Versaillia."

“I call for a vote of No Confidence!” bellowed Lord Lumic.

“ _LUMIC! Would you shut your pie hole_!” shouted Lady De Souza. With a flip of her shiny black hair, she stood with a grunt and defected to the anti-marriage side of the chamber.

“Lord Lumic, of course it is Parliament's privilege to vote for a dissolution of the government, and there will be plenty of time for you to raise the motion again when we re-convene next week,” the PM said sternly. “But there is a deadline looming. The wedding is scheduled to commence in approximately three hours time."

“There is a motion on the floor," said the secretary. "Do I have a second?”

“Second!” shouted MP Craig Owens without hesitation.

“We have a second, Prime Minister,” the secretary proclaimed.

Mrs. Jones breathed in and out. “Should the Official Marriage Order pertaining to His Royal Highness King John X and the Crown Princess Jeanne Antoinette of Versaillia be dissolved? _Aye_ to dissolve, _No_ to uphold.”

oOo

Quietly sitting away from all of the others, in the chamber's neutral territory as he had recused himself from voting, was the man who would would be king: Duke Harold Saxon, Earl of Oakdown. And given the look on his face, he was enjoying the show.

Even though he had thought that his Marriage Act would have been enough to secure the throne, as he had not counted on his “I-will-only-marry-my-soulmate” cousin to actually go through with an arranged marriage just to be married before the age of 35, and he certainly hadn’t counted on Parliament actually _ratifying_ the Marriage Agreement to that Jeanne Antoinette woman — the country _despised_ her -- economic and political advantage won the day, and the Marriage Agreement had been ratified four months prior. 

But then sweet Rosie Posie showed up — and miracle of miracles, she was his soulmate! And the Royalty Soulmate Act of 1646 most certainly trumped the Marriage Agreement, right? Wham bam, thank you ma’am — Princess Problem solved. 

Step One: watch Parliament argue over a meaningless bit of paper. In the end, it really didn’t matter which way the vote went. King John would never marry Princess Jeanne Antoinette now that he'd found his soulmate. 

Step Two: demand a new Marriage Agreement between King John and Rose be drawn up, because you know, they’re soulmates! They _haaaaave_ to get married! Oh goodie! 

Step Three: tie Parliament up in knots so that the ratification of the new marriage agreement would take _moooooonths_ — well, just a little over two months would do it. 

_“Happy Early 35th Birthday Cousin Johnny. So sorry, but I get all of the presents this year. Hand over the crown.”_ Saxon grinned. _”There is no such thing as failure — only creative manipulation of the events that follow._

oOo

"My dearest Princess, you are resplendent!"

"I don't like to brag, but I do have to agree!" Princess Jeanne Antoinette admired her reflection in the three-way mirror. "You don't think the gold lace overlay is too much?"

"Too much? No my dear, if anything it isn't _enough_! There isn't enough gold to outshine your beauty and grace!"

Reinette gave herself a self satisfied smile. "Of course it's not too much. Your suggestion was a stroke of genius, Lady Cassandra."

The woman preened. "Now, there is a small matter that must be brought to your attention." Cassandra adjusted the Princess’s canary yellow and diamond tiara before she pinned the spun-gold veil in place.

"Is it good news?"

"It is, shall I say, _complicated_ news. But at the end of the day, it is _probably_ of no consequence."

“If it is of no consequence, then I do not wish to hear it.” She flicked her wrist. “I will hear only good news on my wedding day."

"Of course, Your Highness," Lady Cassandra backpedalled. "I shall not mention it again."

"Next time I look into a mirror, I shall be the wife of the King of Gallifrey, only one small step from Queen.” She smiled proudly.


	10. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three hours and counting, and Parliament's decision is announced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I am REALLY bad at math. Really bad. I got 95th percentile in verbal on my SAT, and 45th in math. And that was many moons ago, so my math skills have only degraded since then. Please forgive any minor timeline inconsistencies. Thanks. I think you might turn a blind eye though, because more snogging.

Hand-in-hand, Rose and John wound through palace corridors until they came to a set of double doors. 

"Here we are. My private quarters. I noticed that it's started to snow. I could lay a fire?”

"Sounds nice." She squeezed his hand. 

He opened the door, and ushered her into an elegant entry hall. She followed John deeper into the rooms until they reached a comfortable lounge lined with bookshelves on one wall. John released her hand, and set to the task of laying a fire whilst happily whistling. 

She smiled at the domesticity of the scene. There he was. Crouching down. Whistling. Laying a fire. The King! "Look at you doing work. I thought the King would be forbidden from that or something. Afraid you’d burn your hand.”

John laughed. "Maybe other kings." He stood up and walked back to Rose. "I'll shower and slip into something more comfortable." He waggled his eyebrows.

She laughed. "Thought that was supposed to be my line."

"I don't currently keep lingerie in my wardrobe."

"I'd be happy to remedy that."

John pulled her against him and kissed her hard. "Minx."

"Count on it. So, while you're showering, I'll make tea. Point me in the direction of the kitchen? I mean that is, if you even have a kitchen in here.”

“Of course I have a kitchen up here in my little corner of the palace! I make my own toast and tea and everything! But for today, pick up the phone and let my housekeeper take care of us." John jogged off through a door leaving Rose staring at the phone.

"I'll never get used to this." Rose squealed. Her hand hovered over the telephone for a moment, but then she picked it up, and a woman answered. "Um, this is uh, Rose, err, Ms. Tyler, I mean to say, King John's soulmate. Would it be possible, um, to have some tea and biscuits put together? I can come down and pick them up."

"Oh, there is no need to come down, Ms. Tyler. I'll bring something up right away. I know what His Royal Highness favours, of course, but what sort of biscuits do you like?" she asked kindly. "Go on, don't be shy about it. The pantry is like a Tesco's! Jaffa Cakes? Shortbread? We even have Oreo and those nice Milano cookies imported from the States."

"Do you happen to have Jammie Dodgers?"

"You and him — two peas in a pod. Those are his favourite, too. I'll be right up, dear."

Warmth flooded her heart. She figured that the palace would cater to the King's every whim, but she certainly didn't expect such kindness and informality.

John returned, his hair damp, but artfully tousled. He was wearing blue pinstriped trousers and a light blue oxford with the sleeves rolled up halfway. "You'll catch flies if you keep your mouth open like that," he flirted.

Rose blushed. “Uh, you look different.” 

"Good different, or bad different?" He took a few slow steps forward before tugging her close.

"Just different. You look good no matter what you're wearing." She smiled up at him and fiddled with his collar before smoothing down the front of his shirt. “I like this. All casual-like. Haven't seen you so casual since you were in university."

"Wait. How do you know what I was wearing when I was in college?" he frowned. 

She bit her lower lip, still blushing. "I know everything about you. I just might be your number one fangirl."

"Knock knock," a voice called from the corridor. “My hands are full. Highness, could you get the door for me?"

He hurried to the door. A short, stout woman was holding a large, silver tray laden with tea things, two sandwiches, two bananas, and an unopened package of Jammie Dodgers. Quickly, he relieved her of the tray, and they made their way to the lounge.

"Rose, this is Mrs. Donnelly, my housekeeper. Mrs. Donnelly, meet Rose Tyler, my soulmate," he said, beaming.

Rose slowly approached her.

"It is lovely to meet you, dear. And it's about time, too." She patted John's hand. "Leave it to you to wait ’til the last minute, Highness. Always been a bit of a troublemaker, this one,” Mrs. Donnelly said to Rose. “But last minute is still in time, and what a blessing that is. I'll just dim the lights for ya. I remember how it was with me 'n the mister in the beginning. Everything so bright and loud. Enjoy your tea, lovelies." The housekeeper switched the lights off, and closed the door quietly behind her.

John set the tray on the coffee table, and then dropped onto the sofa with a bounce and a grin. Rose remained standing, just looking at John.

"Everything alright?" he asked.

Rose nodded, and a grin overtook her face. "Everything's brilliant!" She sniffed, and a few tears welled in her eyes. "But I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed is all. It's just... mental. I feel like I've known you for a million years, but we just met properly this morning."

He patted the sofa cushion, and she sat next to him, cuddling into his side without a second thought. 

"How do you take your tea?" John asked as he assembled a plate of food for the two of them to share.

"Splash of milk, no sugar, ta. And what about you?"

"Lots of sugar."

Rose prepared their cups of tea, and they ate and drank in comfortable silence for a moment.

“You owe me your story. Tell me about your soulmark?”

They threaded their fingers together.

“I suppose you could say that as long as I can remember, I have loved you. It was all completely innocent and sweet when I was a kid, of course. You were my Prince Charming. I drew pictures of you in a castle, and I was your princess. I sent you homemade birthday cards. I was always caught looking at your picture hanging in my shop. And as I got older, it turned into a proper crush. Oh, I was so infatuated when I was a teenager! I bought every single magazine I could find that had two lines written about you, or even one tiny picture. I made scrapbooks and hung posters of you on my bedroom walls." She laughed. "I even had a life-sized cardboard cutout of you in my bedroom. I used to kiss it goodbye."

"Well, Rose Tyler, you won't need cardboard anymore."

“Yeah?” she turned towards him.

John took the teacup from Rose's hand, wrapped his arms around his soulmate and captured her lips. He pushed his hands through her hair and sucked on her plump lower lip, as she pushed her tongue into his mouth with a throaty moan. Soon they were stretched out on the sofa, hands roaming and needy. When they broke apart, they both giggled.

“Feel like a teenager snogging behind the school,” Rose laughed.

“Or in the backseat of Dad’s car. You know, there’s plenty of room in that posh Bentley of mine. And there's a privacy divider,” John teased her, cheekily waggling his eyebrows. “I think we should go for a long drive in the country.”

“I’d like that, exploring Gallifrey with you. I’ve never been outside of Arcadia.”

“Well that settles it. We are going to take a grand tour of the whole world, Rose Tyler, just as soon as we’re married. It’ll be our honeymoon.”

“Married?”

“Of _course_ we are going to marry! We _have_ to. It’s the law, remember?” He winked. “But even if no law existed, I’d still marry you.”

“Wish it were us getting ready for our wedding today.”

“It’ll happen soon enough, love.”

She bit her lip. “Can I do the flowers?”

“Only if you let me be in on the planning. And _no_ gold gardenias, promise?” he pointed at her.

“Promise. Believe me. I promise,” she said, laughing. “Oh, my hands got a cramp from holding that brush. What a job.”

He took her hands and massaged them. “How does that feel?”

She closed her eyes and sighed. “Fantastic. And just you touching my hands, feels like nothing I’ve ever felt before.”

“I’m having a hard time keeping my hands off of you.”

“Idris, my soulmate counselor, she said it’d be like this once we met. Wouldn’t be able to keep us apart. She was right about that.“

"Idris? Idris is your counselor?" John exclaimed. "She's my counselor!"

"Yeah, that's what Donna told me. Said it was a sign." Rose groaned and pushed her hand through her hair. “Why didn’t I say something? That was such a mistake.”

"But why didn't you tell her?" He continued to massage her hands, moving to her fingers.

"I kept telling myself over and over that because you are King, and you're engaged to a princess, that I had no business doing anything about it. No matter how much it hurt. Wish I hadn't have listened to that voice telling me that.

“You know, she said that we decide what the mark will be, and we give our mate that mark as a gift, even though we don't know it consciously. My flatmate is a med student. Martha said that the brains of people who soulmate are wired differently, and we have the ability to sense who our soulmate is. At least that's the current theory.”

“Well, science never lies, Rose Tyler,” he said authoritatively. 

Rose smiled at him. "You gave me your royal seal."

"I did," he said voice thick. "Apparently, my soul knew what I didn't. That I had found my Queen. And that I needed to be your King. Equal partners in everything."

"I still don't understand why me, though. I'm sorta a nobody, I own a shop, grew up--"

He placed his fingertips on his lips. "No one is a nobody. Everyone is important, Rose Tyler."

The way he said her name, so full of love and devotion, warmed her from the inside out. She lunged for his mouth. Each cradled the others necks, cupping the other's soulmark, and shots of lightning coursed through their bodies, fully igniting the smouldering power of their bond.

They slowly released, but only to rest their foreheads together. 

"I will never get tired of that," he said between heavy breaths, coming down from the feeling of ecstasy. "Why do you think you marked me with a wolf? Is that something special to you?"

"No." She shook her head. "I'd never even though twice about wolves until Idris called me a Bad Wolf. And then there was that wolf that was sprung from the zoo on the day my shop was chosen to do the flowers for your wedding."

"Not my wedding, _the_ wedding." He pulled back, touched her nose fondly, and then pulled her back into a hug.

"And that was the day the wolf escaped from the zoo,"

"Hold on, what's the name of your shop again?"

"The Wolf and Rose. Weird, innit? So many coincidences."

"Coincidences? Maybe. Except when they aren't. Think about it Rose. Idris named you Bad Wolf. Your shop is called The Wolf and Rose. And the day that your shop is chosen, that wolf is sprung from the zoo, and decides to live here rent-free. She's kept me awake with her howling every night for the last two months. And then you gave me a wolf." He scrunched up his face. "But why? What is this all about?" John pulled away and looked out the window. 

“Did you know that wolves can hear for miles? I'm an auditory and--"

"I have a _very_ powerful gob."

“Have I shown you how much I love your gob?”

“It’s been a whole minute since we kissed.”

“I can fix that.”

oOo

A distant church bell tolled eleven times. The carriage carrying Princess Jeanne Antoinette and her father, the King of Versaillia, rolled through the open, ornate iron gates of the Versaillian Embassy compound and onto the festooned and banner-lined streets. 

“Just how long am I going to have to ride in this ancient, rattletrap carriage?"

"The traditional wedding procession through the streets of Arcadia takes approximately three hours."

"That is far too long. This country and their ridiculous traditions. And the weather is dreadful. Hot and humid and rainy in the summer, chilly and windy and rainy in autumn, cold and rainy and dull in the winter, warm and rainy in spring. And of course, a bit of snow here and there that doesn't amount to anything. And the food! Heavy potatoes and meats and pies and sausages. And gravy instead of subtle sauces! I shall have to change the entire palace menu as soon as we return from our honeymoon on Lake Como. And of course, I'll be replacing the entire staff with my own maids, service staff, chefs, and dressmakers. And the King shall require a new tailor and valet. And the new staff will throw every one of those filthy canvas shoes of his into the rubbish bin. It simply won't do to wear Gallifreyan designers. All they wear here are woolly jumpers, rubber mucking boots, tweed, and plaid."

"But remember my darling girl, what your new kingdom may lack in style and grace, they make up for in wealth, strength, and prominence."

"And King John _is_ the best looking of all of the eligible royalty. He is very handsome and quite brilliant. He is a wonderful conversationalist when he isn't droning on and on and on about science and maths. I simply don't care about what he is telling me most of the time. And oddly, he is a bit cold. My charms haven’t been enough to tempt him. But I'll change that. I'll bring refinement and elegance to the palace. And of course, he seems very willing to allow me to live my life as I see fit. He promised me that I can continue to travel, or even spend as much time at the Versaillian summer palace as I would like -- depending upon my royal duties of course. It's a very good match. Thank you, Father. I know my dowry was quite large.”

"Anything for you, my daughter. And the alliance between Gallifrey and Versaillia might even be enough to gain our independence from our subjugation to the Emperor of Franconia."

She sighed. "I do wish that Louis had been amenable to my demand. You’d certainly give up that silly dream of yours for an independent Versaillia if I were the wife of the Emperor, would you not?“

He bristled. “That which you asked of Emperor Louis was simply too much Jeanne. You went too far. You should have accepted the final offer."

"I thought he would relent to my demands. He is a proud man and likes to win. My strategy to make him jealous by requesting to be courted by King John failed. And that is that. I am satisfied with this arrangement."

She opened the privacy curtain to peek out the window and the corners of her mouth turned up slightly. She offered a small wave to the people lining the route, but then she frowned. "Where are the crowds? Where are my future subjects? Don't they wish to catch a glimpse of their future Queen?"

"We are not yet near the centre of the city. The festivities for the commoners are to be held in the Grand Circle, and on the Great Plaza just outside of the palace gate."

"Yes. Of course."

 _Thud_. Something hit the roof of the carriage.

"What was that?"

_Thud, thud, thud._

"What is happening? Father! Are we are being attacked?"

"Are those pears?” the King gasped. “Perhaps pears are sign of fertility and bounty -- they do invoke the shape of a woman carrying a child. Perhaps it is a Gallifreyan wedding blessing."

Jeanne Antoinette growled. "Like hell, it is!"

"Course language is unbecoming of a princess, my dear."

"The King _hates_ pears! _Despises_ them! And this fruit is spoilt! Each one of these pears is a message of disrespect!" Her generously exposed décolletage heaved. "Just look at the disgusting splatters on the windows! Why is my armed escort doing nothing to stop this?!” She cracked the window. "Guard! Seize those traitors at once! They are threatening me!"

"You will calm yourself, Reinette!"

 _"Do not call me REINETTE!_ I am no longer a child to be patronised!"

"Then stop acting like a spoilt twelve year old brat!" the King of Versaillia shouted. "This country has a foolish tolerance for free speech. Let the rabble protest. They are no doubt anti-monarchists. You do _not_ want to give them more ammunition by showing your anger."

She crossed her arms and looked straight ahead.

"Smile, my dear," he said through a tight smile, "your subjects can see you. And the GBC cameras are filming every moment of this joyous occasion. They do not want a scowling queen. They desire a beautiful, gracious woman for their beloved King. And remember, you are _not_ the darling here in Gallifrey that you are in Versallia. I know that you are aware of the opinion polls that indicate your popularity is extremely low."

"I will win them over. They will love me. And if they don't, I will simply stay out of the country. You _are_ giving me the yacht as a wedding gift, are you not?"

oOo

Their fingers frantically traced each other’s soulmarks, wholly lost in each other, awash in a pleasure that only soulmates could share. Their soulmarks were aflame, and the fire had melted their souls into one. The moment was just as intimate as the sharing of their bodies would be. Just different.

"John! Buddy! I have really bad news," blurted Jack bursting into the private quarters. He slammed his hand over his eyes and turned his back. “I’ll give the two of you a minute to, uh, calm down. But hurry, this is urgent. And damn! Are the two of you _gorgeous_ together.“

They jumped apart, reeling from the abrupt severing of their souls.

"You shoulda knocked, Jack." John buttoned his shirt, and tucked in the shirt tails. Rose smoothed her clothing with her hands and straightened her hair.

"I'm sorry, you two. I really am, but this is big. And bad. Really bad. I just heard from PM Jones. Parliament broke ten minutes ago. I’m the first person she called. Those idiots in Parliament voted to _uphold_ the marriage order. You are still bound to marry Princess Jeanne Antoinette. The vote was so, so close. 51 to 48. Harry abstained, oh so very graciously acknowledging that he had a conflict of interest.”

John rubbed his hands down his face. He began to pace in front of the fireplace. "Ianto told Rose that the Royalty Soulmate Act trumped the marriage agreement."

“You’re right. It does. Honestly, I don’t know what they’re thinking. And I sure as hell don’t know how to fix this.“

But then Rose spoke up. "Hold on. If John's cousin, Duke Saxon didn't want John to get married so bad, 'cos it's a known fact he wants to be the king, he’d want to make sure to get the wedding cancelled, yeah? And everyone's always talking like Saxon owns most of Parliament. So why didn’t he tell his people to vote to cancel the wedding?“

Jack and John looked at each other, and then simultaneously, back at Rose.

“What if he didn’t _care_ one way or another? His hands would be officially clean. No allegations of rigging a vote, no scandal to taint his claim to the throne,” John said. "Rose, you are _brilliant_." John put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her forehead. "I _really_ don't want to do this, but I have to get dressed for a wedding." Surprisingly, he was grinning.

"What?" Rose asked. 

John pulled her into his arms, and rested his forehead against hers. "Do you trust me, Rose Tyler?" he whispered, stroking her soulmark. 

Love and joy and a feeling of unmitigated trust washed over her mind, heart, and soul.

"Yes. Always."

"Good." He kissed her forehead again. 

"What do you have up your sleeve?" Jack asked.

"Brilliant Rose here reminded me of someone that we have been ignoring in all of this. Good old cousin Harry. Because if I'm right, and I usually am, when the Archbishop asks if anyone has an objection to the blessed union, well," he drawled, "Harry is going to have one big fat objection, but we're going to have one too. And it will be up to the Archbishop to decide, won't it? He's the one asking the big question after all, and he's the one in the biggest hat. And in this case, the man with the biggest hat wins.

"Rose, stay here. Don't wander off. Jack, come with me. We have a lot to do and not much time. The wedding starts in only two and a half hours."

oOo

Alone in the lounge, Rose stared into the fire. She jumped as the door flew open, and a procession of men and women marched in carrying bins and pushing carts. 

Donna and Astrid were the last to arrive. “Alright blondie, time to get ready. You have fifteen minutes to shower. The bathroom’s through there.” She pointed through a doorway. “Don’t do your hair or makeup. You’ll want to shave, though.” Donna winked.

“What are you talking about?”

Donna groaned, exasperated. “Just go! We have a lot to do, and not much time. Now shift! And don’t be startled if you come out of the shower and there are people waiting for you with knickers and underthings. Just go with it. Pretend you’re at one of those spas on the continent where everyone walks around naked and no one cares.”

Rose’s eyes went wide, but she obeyed. 

oOo

There was now a thicker crowd lining the streets. The volley of rotten pears had stopped, replaced by flowers of all kinds being thrown at the carriage. And the predominant flower? Roses.

"Oh!" Jeanne Antoinette exclaimed. "My subjects are preparing my path with flowers! How lovely!“ 

The closer they got to the Grand Circle in the centre of Arcadia, the thicker the crowds became. And the people were now chanting.

"Why are they asking for roses? Was I to collect the flowers with which I was showered, and throw them back in gratitude?" she asked.

"I do not believe they are asking _for_ roses, Jeanne Antoinette. They are asking for someone _named_ Rose."

_"We want Rose! We want Rose! We want Rose!"_

"Who is Rose?" she asked.

The carriage had now arrived at the large circular plaza in the heart of the city. A tall column topped with the statue of a war hero dominated the middle of the circle. A series of enormous screens had been erected for the purpose of broadcasting the festivities live for the crowds.

"I believe _that_ must be Rose." The King pointed at one of the screens. "Smile for the camera, my daughter. You are on GBC."

Princess Jeanne Antoinette's face was on the screen -- a small picture-in-picture to the bottom right. She gasped at the sight of young woman with bleach-blonde hair, light brown eyes, and a luminous smile capturing the attention of the crowd. 

"Why am I in a little box in the corner, while this Rose Tyler girl is stealing the attention?" 

The image of Rose showed her standing in a flower shop, cradling a large bouquet of pink and yellow roses, wearing an apron that was emblazoned with the words, 'The Wolf and Rose'.

"Give me your mobile!" Jeanne Antoinette commanded. She opened the GBC app to stream the coverage. "Load load load!" She yelled at the smartphone.

_"If you are just joining us now, this is what you need to know about today’s shocking and historic turn of events. A reliable source from inside the palace -- who we know to be close to the King -- has told us that King John has found his soulmate. Earlier today GBC received several photos that were taken on the palace grounds. We felt it necessary to confirm the authenticity of the photos before we aired them, and indeed, they are real, have not been retouched, nor are they manipulations. The photos show His Royal Highness King John and Ms. Rose Tyler, who is a commoner, together. The photos were taken in the Battle of Arcadia Memorial Garden near the Fountain of Solitude. One photo in particular stands out. If there was doubt before about the veracity of the rumours that have been swirling this morning, this photo dispels all doubt. King John and Rose Tyler are soulmates. She bears his royal seal, and he, a wolf. And the flower shop that she owns? The Wolf and Rose."_

The second news presenter chortled. _"I wonder if she is friends with the wolf who has taken up residence on the palace grounds?"_

The Princess strained to see the pictures on the tiny mobile screen, but then gave up to look outside at one of the enormous screens. Her eyes were glued to the images of the commoner and the King holding hands. They were smiling and waving at the person taking the photo. And hugging. The King even was captured kissing that _Rose person’s_ hand. He had love in his eyes, a look he had never directed towards her.

When the picture of the soulmarks on their necks was again shown, the Princess screamed like a banshee. And as each picture and video was broadcast over and over on an endless loop, her anger surged. Rose Tyler's flower shop, King John's teaching days, a statue dedication with _her_ in the crowd. Her back was to the camera, so she was circled in red. And again and again and again those soulmarks dominated the screens. That woman stared down at her... Her joyous smile fueled her rage.

_"Rumours are swirling that the emergency session of Parliament has been dominated by heated debate, insults, slander, and shouting. Parliament is apparently deadlocked as to whether or not to repeal or uphold the Marriage Order between the King and the Princess. An official outcome has yet to be announced._

_”We have Dr. Malcolm Taylor, Professor of Royal History and Protocol, live from Queen's College, to give us further insight. Thank you for being with us today, Professor Taylor."_

_"Thank you for inviting me. I'm honoured. Truly honoured. Anything I can to do to ensure the just and rightful marriage of King John to his soulmate --"_

The presented cleared her throat. _"Right. Please explain the Royalty Soulmate Act of 1646."_

Professor Taylor told the history leading up to the passage of the law, and what might be the subject of the debate -- the relevance of the Royalty Soulmate Act, the recent passage of the Marriage Act, and the importance of the overwhelming public sentiment in opposition to the marriage.

_"So you see, the marriage of King John X and Princess Jeanne Antoinette of Versaillia could be in violation of royal law. Parliament, however, must decide if a law that was enacted before the existence of our modern form government can or should be upheld."_

_"And as an expert, what is your opinion, Dr. Taylor?"_

_It is my opinion that the Royalty Soulmate Act of 1646 does indeed stand. That the marriage order is nullified."_

_"Thank you for joining us. That again was Dr. Malcolm Taylor, professor of--"_

"This is... How can this... Why was I not told any of this!?" Jeanne Antoinette yelled over the sound of the broadcast.

"This is an outrage!" He grabbed the mobile from his daughter and dialled.

"Y--yes your Majesty?" Jeanne Antoinette heard through the speaker.

"You will explain to me what is happening. Now." The King was quietly terrifying.

oOo

It was time for the news to be revealed to the public, and the authorities were more than a little worried that the crowds would not be pleased. The police officers in charge of crowd control were crossing their fingers that the more vocal protestors had run out of rotten pears.

_We have been speculating for hours as to why Parliament has been convened into special, closed session. No one has entered or exited the chamber since they convened a few hours ago. And the clock is ticking. Princess Jeanne Antoinette's bridal is just a little under an hour from from the palace gates, and the wedding is on schedule to begin in thirty minutes. Again, this is unprecedented. And I do believe, yes, it looks like we are about to find out what has been happening. The Prime Minister is about to make a statement. So we are now going live to the Parliament building._

The citizens of Gallifrey watched as Prime Minister Harriet Jones took her place behind the podium. She was dressed in clothing appropriate for the wedding and royal ball.

_"Fair citizens of Gallifrey. There have been many rumours and much speculation today. I can gladly confirm that His Royal Highness King John of Gallifrey has at long last found his soulmate, Ms. Rose Marion Tyler of Arcadia. There is a long-standing Gallifreyan law that states if an unmarried sovereign finds his or her soulmate, they must marry to ascend or retain the throne._

_"As you know, months ago, Parliament officially ratified the Marriage Order between King John and Princess Jeanne Antoinette of Versaillia. However, in a shocking turn of events, Parliament has NOT nullified that marriage order, even though the Royalty Soulmate Act of 1646 legally supersedes the Marriage Order. Therefore, the wedding will still take place, as planned, this evening at six o'clock in Arcadia Abbey. The wedding will satisfy the Saxon Marriage Act, requiring monarchs to marry on or before their 35th birthday, guaranteeing that King John will retain his throne. As I can not be late for this wedding, now matter how much I do not support it, I will be taking no further questions."_

Harriet Jones's face was downcast as she shakily retreated from the podium. The GBC news presenter took over, and the occupants of the carriage sat in silence as the crowd outside erupted in anger. And yes, there were pears, but not directed at the crowd control officers. They were being held at the ready for the Versaillian carriage to pass by.

_"That was, of course, Prime Minister Harriet Jones who just gave us the shocking news that although King John has found his soulmate, who has now been officially confirmed to be Ms. Rose Tyler, the wedding between His Royal Highness and Princess Jeanne Antoinette will proceed. For a short time, it did seem as if our dear King and his Rose had been given their fairy tale ending. But it was apparently not to be."_

An unrelenting barrage of pears pelted the carriage, but the Princess didn’t flinch.

“I knew it would be sorted,” she said, fingering one of several enormous diamonds that adorned her.

oOo

Rose stood in front of a three-way mirror in what had been Queen Doris’ enormous dressing room. She was in a long, white silk, kimono-style dressing gown, and her hair was styled in a classic, but complicated knot on the back of her head.

Donna unzipped an enormous garment bag. It required the help of the dressmaker to pull out the most beautiful gown Rose had ever seen.

Rose pointed. “That’s a wedding dress.”

“Uh huh! Isn’t it amazing?” Donna gushed.

"This is his _mum's_ wedding dress,” she repeated. “The _Queen of Gallifrey's_ wedding dress.”

“John very specifically said to pick something from his mother's wardrobe that was white. This was the only white dress. Off with the dressing gown, on with the dress.”

Self-consciously, Rose slipped out of the white silk and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Stop trying to hide yourself. Ain’t nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Rose cleared her throat. “How’d you know my size for the, you know, lingerie?”

“We talked to your friend Mickey Smith—“

“What?!” Rose startled.

“HA! No. He called your friend Martha who did some investigation,” Donna winked, “and the police-escorted chauffeur sped over to Henrik’s. Alright, you’ll need to step into this thing.”

Rose’s legs were shaking, so Donna held her hand as she stepped onto a stool that had been placed in the center of the open skirt. The heavy silk was lifted up and onto Rose.

“Mind the lace, Ms. Tyler,” cautioned the dressmaker as Rose slipped her arms into the wrist-length, delicate lace sleeves.

It took several minutes to fasten the many pearl buttons that stretched from below the waist to the just above the middle of her back.

“Thankfully, I don’t need to take in the bodice. We need to take it up about six inches though. We’ll leave the train as it is. Oh, you look lovely,” the dressmaker said brightly. 

“You are short, aren't you?” Donna said.

"I can't help that."

"That's a long way to have to reach to snog that skinny beanpole,” Donna frowned.

Rose half smiled. "Hasn't been a problem."

Donna stuck her fingers in her ears. "Don't wanna know don't wanna know."

"You're the one who brought it up!" Rose smiled widely and laughed, her eyes shining brightly, for the first time since she had seen the gown.

Rose stood statue-still as she looked at herself in the mirror. The dressmaker worked quickly to hem the gown.

“And there we go. That wasn’t too difficult.”

The women stood back and studied Rose. Delicate lace covered her arms and the tips of her shoulders, hinting at the strapless silk bodice underneath, while heavier lace of the same pattern overlaid the skirt. 

“Now this is a proper royal wedding gown, not the abomination _that woman_ is wearing.” Donna scowled. 

“It is a very _gold_ dress,” Rose said diplomatically. “They sent me pictures a while back so I could coordinate it with the flowers.”

“I saw it on the telly when she got into the carriage. All of that gold, it’s _vulgar_ ,” the silver-haired dressmaker tutted. “Never has such a garment been worn inside of Arcadia Abbey. If the Queen had seen it, God rest her soul, she’d have given _that woman_ a piece of her mind, that’s what.”

“If the Queen were alive, the King wouldn’t be marrying _that woman_.” Donna put a hand on her hip.

“Let’s bustle up the train.” 

Donna managed the moderately sweeping skirt while the dressmaker worked the disguised loops onto the buttons, pulling the modest sweep train off of the floor. She gathered her tools into her sewing kit, and then excused herself with a small curtsey. Rose curtseyed back.

Donna laughed. “You don’t curtsey back when you’re royalty, blondie.”

“I may be his soulmate, but I’m not royalty.”

“Believe me, you’re about one step away.”

Rose chewed her lip.

“You’ll eat off that lipstick if you keep gnawing on your lip like that,” Donna called over her shoulder as she left the room, but then quickly returned carrying a small wooden chest. “One last thing.” Donna handed Rose a folded card embossed with the royal seal, and then set the box on a nearby table. “I’ll step out for a moment. But don’t sit down,” she ordered. “Call me back when you’re ready.”

“Don’t know if I _can_ sit down,” Rose said to herself as she opened the note.

_Dearest Rose, My Soulmate, the Queen of My Heart,_

_Three generations of soulmates have given these jewels to their beloveds, and now it’s my turn._

_With my whole heart, Your Soulmate, John_

Carved into the lid was the royal seal of Gallifrey. She stared at the box for a moment before she reached out and flipped a little hinge on the chest. She gasped. The satin lining cradled a necklace and earring set. 

“Donna!” Rose called. “I… I can't accept these. They're royal jewels! These are for family!"

“Well who do you think you are then? The pizza delivery girl? Of course you’re family!” Donna said rolling her eyes. “He said to trust him, didn't he? And I promise, when John says he will do something, he does it. Let me help you put them on.”

"This is..."

"Isn’t it gorgeous! You lucky girl.” Donna lifted a seven-stranded pearl choker from its satin bed and showed it to Rose. A large, oval-cut sapphire surrounded by diamonds connected the pearls. Donna draped it around Rose’s throat and then affixed the clasp.

Rose hesitated before she barely touched the midnight blue stone that rested in the well of her throat.

“It’s my favourite piece in the entire treasury. Was his mum’s favourite, too. Skip the earrings. It’ll be too much with the necklace,” decided Donna. 

Rose nodded numbly.

“And I have one more surprise for you. Ladies,” she bellowed. “Come on in.” 

The door burst open. "Rose!" Martha gushed, running towards her. Amy and Lynda followed close behind.

"Surprise, Rose!" gushed Donna. "Couldn't let this special day happen without your best friends here, now could we?"

“Is that a wedding dress?” Martha gasped.

“Officially, it’s a ballgown,” Donna deadpanned. “But Crown Boy has some tricks up his royal sleeve.” She winked. 

Rose shrugged up her shoulders, nervously. "He asked me to trust him, and I'm trusting him. But to be clear, he never said anything about a wedding. But never mind me, look at the three of you!” Rose quirked an eyebrow, noticing that while each dress was unique, they were all the same colour.

“Donna arranged for us to have private gown fittings in that posh designer salon on the top floor of Henrik’s. Whattya think?” Dreamy gauze flared out as Martha twirled in her floor-length, blush pink, Grecian-styled gown.

“And we each got to bring a plus one,” Lynda said, grinning. “I’m bringing Karl the Barista. Like my dress?”

“It’s absolutely you.” Rose smiled fondly at Lynda. Her gown was uniquely Lynda’s style with a narrow, tiered ruffle skirt that skimmed the floor.

“Rory was able to trade shifts, so he’s going to be able to make it,” said Amy. She was wearing an elegant, satin mermaid dress that made her look even taller than she already was. 

Each woman wore a white crushed-velvet capelet to ward off the early winter chill.

“Rose, do you know where Mickey is? He isn’t answering calls or texts,” Martha asked.

“Last time I heard, he was out chasing that wolf that escaped from the zoo,” Rose bit back a smile. “Having the time of his life, I think.” 

“What?” exclaimed Martha.

“Yeah! Isn’t it crazy? This morning I was applying gold leaf to gardenias, and now I’m in his mum’s wedding dress.”

“So spill it,” Amy demanded. “You have the King’s soul mark and you didn’t tell us?”

“Do you mind if we look at it?” Lynda asked timidly.

Rose nodded, and her friends crowded around her back, oohing and ahhing. 

“No time for the story, ladies. I have to get Rose over to the Abbey,” said Donna. “Rose, there’s a satin evening cloak over there. It’ll cover up the dress, and no one will think anything of it considering it’s so cold out. The thing is so gorgeous it looks almost like a ballgown on its own, and it goes perfectly with the sapphires.” Donna winked.

Rose couldn’t hold back. She threw her arms around Donna and hugged her. “I can’t thank you enough.” Rose sniffed a few times. 

“Now none of that crying. You’ll mess up your makeup, and then I’ll start crying and we’ll both look like raccoons. Now take a look at yourself one more time and let me know if anything needs fixing.”

Rose looked at herself in the mirror one last time before she followed Donna out of the dressing room that was fit for a Queen.


	11. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The royal wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Princess Jeanne Antoinette of Versaillia Moodboard can be seen [here on my tumblr.](http://whoinwhoville.tumblr.com/post/165298137632/sensory-overload-a-royaltycommoner-soulmates-au)
> 
> (Rose's moodboard will be posted with the next chapter chapter.)

Duke Harold Saxon, Earl of Oakdown, casually walked behind his slip of a wife, the Duchess Lucille, as she was escorted by an attendant to the second row, the two seats closest to the inside aisle. 

"Oh, goodie! Isn't this the perfect spot to watch Cousin Johnny give me his crown!” Harold clapped, garnering disdainful looks from those sitting around him.

“Harry, you aren’t going to object are you?” Lucy asked timidly.

He squeezed her thigh just this side of painful. “Now why would I go and do a thing like that?” 

oOo

The Abbey was full of the aristocratic elite of Gallifrey, foreign royalty, political and social leaders, a few favourite celebrities of the King and Princess, and others deemed worthy or necessary to witness the solemnisation of the two nations uniting. An ancient hymn was being sung by a children’s choir accompanied by a grand pipe organ.

Donna sat to the left of a very nervous Rose Tyler.

“I’m Harriet Jones, Prime Minister.” The tired-looking, kindly-faced woman sitting to Rose’s right introduced herself.

"I'm Rose Tyler."

"Oh, I know who you are. Don't worry about all of this nonsense. It will work out. I promise. Our King is brilliant."

"Then why do you have that look on your face, Mrs. Jones?" Donna asked, crossing her arms.

"I don't like surprises, Donna. Never have. But I do have faith in King John." She patted Rose's hand. “I see that you have your hair up. Your soulmark is visible. It is lovely.“

Rose blushed, and her mark warmed.

“A mark fit for a Queen, Your Highness.”

Rose screwed up her face. "But I'm not..."

"Yes you are. The moment you and the King became soulmates, you became royalty in the eyes of this nation, crown or no crown. They already love you.” 

Donna squeezed Rose’s hand. “99% approval rating. See?” She held up her mobile to show Rose the results of a flash poll that had been conducted that afternoon.

“This day has just been mental. How many times have I said that now?“

"And it's gonna get even more mental in about ten minutes, blondie." Donna grinned. "And I can hardly wait! I wish I had popcorn. This is better than Eastenders!"

“I prefer Coronation Street,” Harriet deadpanned.

Donna laughed loudly, and even Rose tittered.

“Sssssssh!” tutted an regal woman, drenched in diamonds, sitting in the pew behind them.

The guests stopped their quiet chatter as the orchestra began to play the prelude. Rose closed her eyes and let the romantic music of Ralph Vaughn Williams wash over her racing heart and mind.

Trumpets sounded a fanfare and she jumped. The enormous bronze doors to Arcadia Abbey swung open, and the first majestic chords of a grand march sounded. Four little girls in golden silk dresses entered the cavernous abbey with ballerina-worthy grace. They scattered gold-edged gardenia blossoms in preparation for the Princess.

And then, an even grander fanfare sounded, and silhouetted against the early afternoon light, was the resplendent Princess Jeanne Antoinette of Versaillia.

It was all Rose could do to stand in respect of royalty, her legs were quaking so violently. She with the rest of the congregation to face the bride as she prepared to enter the Abbey. She kept her focus just slightly away from the Princess though, not wanting to see the woman who, unless John’s plan somehow worked out, would be marrying the love of her life.

With all of the grace that would be expected, the Princess glided down the aisle as if floating on a golden cloud. Her gown was luminous white silk. An elaborate floral design of gold seed beads embellished the bodice. 

But it was the veil, full skirt, and train that elicited both gasps of astonishment at the splendour and exquisite handiwork, and clucks of disdain at the grossly decadent display of copious amounts of gold. 

Her veil was spun gold lace, engulfing her from the head to hem, and trailed behind her skimming the twenty foot long train of her wedding gown. The skirt, too, was overlaid with the same spun gold lace, with hundreds of tiny and delicate, golden gardenia blossoms in appliqué. Her tiara was an flashing creation of white and yellow diamonds, and her necklace was a veritable rope of diamonds with one single enormous _pear-cut_ yellow diamond that rested in her cleavage. The gold-edged gardenia blossoms of her enormous bridal bouquet glimmered in the candlelight.

King John, flanked by his best man, Jack Harkness, came in from the side, and stood at the head of the aisle. Rose drew in a stuttered breath and held it when she saw her soulmate. He was dressed in full royal regalia. Over his midnight blue military jacket, a wide silk sash was slung from shoulder to waist across his chest, adorned with medals and medallions. Epaulets accentuated his broad shoulders, and white trousers with silver stripes running down the sides made him look even taller than he was. His hair was perfectly styled, just on the conservative side of riotous.

Rose kept her her eyes glued to her soulmate. Donna and Harriet Jones each grabbed a hand and gave her comforting squeezes, which she returned.

The Archbishop, who had been standing at the ready from the start, captured Rose's eyes. He gave her the smallest of smiles, but it was neither sympathetic nor sad. It was even a bit cheeky. Rose felt her soulmark warming on her neck.

The children's choir sang, there was a reading about the solemnity of marriage and royal duty, and then the guests sang a hymn. The Archbishop began the ceremony.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God and in the face of this congregation to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony, which is an honorable estate instituted..." 

Rose's mind began to wander, and she stopped listening to the officiant. She closed her eyes and imagined herself standing next to her soulmate. She silently spoke her own vows of commitment to him, and felt his warmth flooding her mind, comforting her, reassuring her.

She jumped as Donna elbowed her side. "Here comes the good part. Get ready, Rose."

"Therefore, if anyone can show any just cause why they may not lawfully be joined together, let them now speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace."

"Oh! OH! Pick Me! Pick me! I do! I object!” 

Rose's head snapped towards the voice behind her, near the aisle. Duke Saxon was bouncing in his seat, his hand reaching in the air like an overexcited schoolboy who knew the answer to a difficult maths problem.

The congregation gasped, and there were even a few muffled screams as Duke Harold Saxon, Earl of Oakdown, sprang from his seat.

"Speak your peace," the Archbishop nodded sagely.

"Jeannie and Johnny can't get married. Parliament was very very naughty when they didn't rip up the Marriage Order. The Royalty Soulmate Act of 1646 is unbreakable, and Parliament overstepped their bounds."

"Shocking I know, but I am in full agreement with you, Duke, but I am forbidden from voicing my opinion. You have done all of us a favour. Therefore, I am officially and legally bound to _not_ marry these two people." He turned to King John. "Are you in agreement, your Highness?"

A slow grin took over his face. He looked at Rose Tyler. "Oh yes. Absolutely 100% in agreement."

The Archbishop turned to the Princess. “Are you in—“

"I object! I. AM. NOT. IN. AGREEMENT!" The Princess threw her bouquet to the floor, and then fought with her veil. The delicate golden lace tore as she pushed it up and over her head. "This is unacceptable! The marriage order is a legally binding agreement! Your own Parliament confirmed it not three hours ago! Negotiations have been made! They can not be broken! This is an outrage, and I will go far as to say tantamount to an act of war!"

"War? Really, Jeanne Antoinette, aren't you being just a little bit melodramatic?” King John raised an eyebrow.

The Princess's chest heaved, and her face burned red.

"Sorry, Princess. I didn't write the law," King John continued. "And speaking of the Royalty Soulmate Act of 1646, hold that thought, everyone." He bounded over to where Rose was sitting. Bowing, he extended his hand. "My dearest Love, come with me." 

Rose gasped as Donna sneakily slipped off the cloak Rose had wrapped around her shoulders. He drew in a heavy breath as he saw his true bride for the first time. She smiled brightly, and let him to lead her forward to the altar.

Lady Lumic stood. “That’s Queen Doris’s wedding gown! I was there! I was a Lady in Waiting and helped her put it on! The absolute gall! Impudent child! How dare she! And she is wearing the Eye of Harmony Sapphire with Queen Doris's pearls!"

Gasps and exclamations of anger mixed with sounds of delight and applause.

The King took both of her hands into his, and faced her fully. “Rose Marion Tyler, my soulmate, my second heart,” the King said in a loud, clear voice. “We can't break the law, now can we? Not with that Royalty Soulmate Act of 1646 hanging over our heads,” he said with a cheeky grin. 

And then he leaned in close. His lips were against her flushed cheek. His measured, calm breathing was warm against her skin. Whispering so only Rose could hear, John spoke the desire of his soul. “I didn’t want it to happen this way, but I suppose the how doesn’t really matter when it comes down to it. Will you, Rose Tyler, marry me? We could do it right now. That is, if you want." He drew back, face earnest and longing.

Rose leaned forward, and just as he had whispered in her ear, she replied for him to hear alone. “Yes. Of course I will!” 

Just as he had that very morning, he pressed her lips to his knuckles. But this time, he lowered himself down on one knee, and then pulled a ring from his pocket. He slipped it on her finger. 

The few gasps of furor were wholly overwhelmed by the applause and sighs of pure joy. And then as a single body, they stood to give their ovation to the beaming soulmates who were now standing side by side, hands clasped.

The crack of palm against cheek broke through the joyful din, and then there was silence.

" **I am your bride! She is an interloper! I demand that she be removed immediately!** " the Princess bellowed.

Rose stepped away from her fiancé. _"No one yells at the King. And no one ever, ever, **EVER** slaps my soulmate!_ ” Rose balled her fists, her golden-brown eyes flashing with anger-fueled fire. She took a second step closer to the Princess. Her right arm was poised in an offensive position, but then she closed her eyes and relaxed her arms and hands. “No. I’m not going to stoop to your level, Princess Jeanne Antionette. And believe me, growing up where I did, I learned how to throw a mean right hook.”

"Amen, my sister, amen," testified a woman from America.

Princess Jeanne Antoinette tipped her chin haughtily. “I can imagine you learned how to _do_ all sorts of… _tricks_ considering where you are from.”

Rose crossed her arms and cocked her hip. “Did she just say what I think she said?” she asked Jack and John.

The Princess raised an eyebrow and haughtily smiled down her regal nose.

“If you wanna slug her, Rosie, most of Gallifrey would cheer, "Jack stage whispered into Rose’s ear.

Rose smirked. “Like I said before, she's not worth it. Besides, she's so full of herself, I'd break my hand.”

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhh, BURN!" exclaimed a group of rowdy, royal, teenaged cousins seated together.

“King John! Are you simply going to stand there and allow this… this… person to threaten me?” the Princess said to the King, pointing at Rose.

“Seems to me, you’re the one who’s been doing the threatening, _your Highness_ ,” John sneered, "and my _beloved_ is the one defending herself. And she's been doing a fine job of it all on her own."

The Princess growled.

“I _love_ watching attractive women fighting. Who’s up for bringing in a pit of mud? I lay odds on Rose, two to one,” delighted Duke Saxon, waving a thick stack of money over his head.

Both ladies shot glares at the man.

The Archbishop raised his hands. “Please. Please. Everyone. Please. We must calm ourselves. This is a place of holy worship! You are the house of the Lord. Remember where you are.”

Rose pursed her lips and looked down. Jeanne Antoinette squared her posture and regained her cool composure. 

Harry, however, grinned manically. “Your Grace, may I finish now? I do have another objection. There is still the matter of a _new_ marriage order. Before those two _precious_ soulmates can marry, Parliament needs to give their stamp of approval. I am so, soooo sorry, Cousin John. But you and Rosie Posie can’t tie the knot today. And it will take aaaaaages for Parliament to ratify that marriage order. Your situation is quite complicated, and will require endless hours of legal review and never-ending debate," he pouted. “Disappointing, I know. I was looking forward to a wedding cake and dancing.”

“Excuse me your Highnesses and your Grace,” a voice from a side corridor echoed. “Duke Saxon, with respect, you are under the wrong impression. The Royalty Soulmate Act of 1646 does _not_ require that the marriage of royal soulmates be ratified by Parliament, as Parliament did not even exist for another two hundred sixty-two years, and the Act has never been amended to require Parliamentary involvement. The law clearly states that if a royal finds his or her soulmate, they _must_ marry immediately. There is nothing further to discuss.”

“I object!” Harry shouted over and over.

A woman wearing an antiquated green ballgown tore down the aisle. “I object to Harry’s objection, and Harry’s other objection, and the Princess’s objection, and Harry’s other and other and other and other objections! Hello John! Hello Rose! It is so very wonderful to see you with my own two eyes." She kissed John on the lips, and likewise, kissed Rose.

Oohs and ahhs echoed throughout the stone Abbey.

"Who is this woman in a ragged gown?" Princess Jeanne Antionette smirked.

“I’m Idris! Taking care of soulmates is who I am! Idris took care of his father and mother, and his grandmother and grandfather, and his great grandfather's grandfather and grandmother. And on her side, Idris was there for her mum and dad, and her dad's father and mother, and her mum's grandparents and great-grandparents, and let's see, who else...?" Idris brought her finger to her lips. “That pretty one over there -- the one in the grey suit with the royal blue noose around his neck! Ianto Jones! He is right. My darlings have to marry. They are soulmates,” she said wide-eyed.

"Who let this madwoman into Arcadia Abbey?!" Harold shouted, pointing at Idris.

"I'm not mad, I'm spirited!" she gushed. "Well, perhaps, maybe a little bit mad."

“Just a _little bit mad_? You're a raving lunatic. You just said, in front of all of these witnesses, that you were the soulmate helper -- whatever that means -- to five generations of royalty! And that would make you about a hundred and fifty years old!"

"Of course I'm not a hundred and fifty years old.”

"But you just you just said you were!" screeched Duke Saxon. 

She crossed her arms and scowled. "No I didn't."

"Yes you did." 

"No I did not! I said that Idris is always there to take care of soulmates. In my future and my past, and my present. Or maybe your future, and their past, and my present? Time can be confusing."

"Harry?" said his quiet wife, Lucille. 

"Just listen to this woman!” Harold pointed at Idris. “She is clearly insane, and she has the ear of the King! And he trusts her? Makes me we wonder about the sanity of my dear cousin!" Harry shouted. 

"Harry!" Lucille repeated loudly.

"What are you nagging about _now_?!" he yelled at his wife.

"Harry, give me a divorce." Lucy Saxon said confidently. "I know about your affair with the Duchess of Racnoss."

Harry's mouth gaped.

"Duke and Duchess Saxon, I respectfully request that you conduct your private business elsewhere, as we need to return our attentions to the issue at hand,” said the Archbishop. 

A woman halfway back stood. “I have an objection to the marriage, and I do believe the information that I have to share will provide irrefutable evidence as to the illegality of this marriage.”

The Archbishop sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "State your objection, Lady Cheem."

The Princess snapped her attention to the left hand side of the congregation. "My dearest Jabe! I did not know you were here!" Her smile was forced and tight. 

"Hello, Princess. It's been a long time, has it not?" said the tall woman in the golden-brown gown.

"I can not imagine what your objection might be, dearest friend."

"Oh, I believe you do." Lady Cheem returned her attention to the Archbishop. "Versaillia is the country of my birth." The woman stood tall, proud, and confident. "I was a Lady in Waiting within the court of Versaillia until I married Lord Cheem and became a loyal subject of Gallifrey. I have known the Princess for _many_ years," she said, giving Jeanne Antionette a pointed look, "although our one-time friendship was broken years ago. 

"You see, there is an impediment to the marriage of Princess Jeanne Antionette to King John. I have brought His Imperial Highness's representative to provide the documentation of his Highness’ legal claim to the Princess's hand in marriage. Count?" Lady Cheem gestured to the regally-dressed man seated next to her. 

He stood. A rolled document, bound with a braided cord sealed with wax was in his hand. “Princess Jeanne Antoinette has been betrothed, since birth, to His Imperial Highness, Louis XV, Emperor of the Frankish Kingdoms. The Kingdom of Versaillia is of course, subject to the Emperor," the Count began.

"King John? Are you aware of the betrothal?" asked the Archbishop.

"No, your Grace, I am not." His jaw flexed, and he held Rose's hand tighter.

The Archbishop shook his head and sighed, turning to the Princess's father. "Care shed any light?"

“Well, ahem, errr—“ the King of Versaillia evaded.

The Princess interrupted. “Yes. It is the truth. It was my mother's greatest wish that I become the Empress of the Realm. However, his Imperial Highness's first two proposals of marriage were not acceptable, and he refused to accept my final counteroffer. Therefore, I allowed myself to be courted by the King of Gallifrey. I had successful negotiations with Gallifrey. To be honest, I had hoped to make the Emperor jealous.”

"Offers? Counteroffers? _Jealous?_ ” King John scrunched his face in disgust. "I knew this was a marriage of convenience and politics, but I never knew I was in a bidding war! So what tipped the scales in my favour, hmmm?" He asked, eyebrows high. "Was it my rapier wit? My superior intellect? My good looks? No let me guess. It was the _enormous_ Gallifreyan treasury."

"The Canary Parure did certainly weigh in your favour. But in the end, it was your willingness to allow me freedom to do as I wish. To come and go as I please, because obviously, there is no love between us, considering that _girl_ next to you is first in your heart. Love is of no importance to me." The Princess flicked her wrist. 

"Your Highness, the Emperor has authorised me to give you the answer to your final demand," the Count said with authority.

"And...?" She asked, one perfectly groomed eyebrow raised.

"You will be given the title of Empress upon the occasion of the physical consummation of your marital union, with all of the rights and privileges included thereof. May I approach, your Grace?” 

"Go riiiiiight ahead," the Archbishop said, motioning broadly. "Why not. All sense of dignity and propriety have flown out of that ancient stained glass window, anyway."

The strode to the Princess, bowed, and offered the scroll.

She broke the seal, unrolled the parchment, and smiled cooly.

"I accept the terms of his counter offer. No further offers will be accepted. Does anyone have a pen?"

The Count produced a fountain pen and sealing wax. Lady Jabe provided a hymnal as a firm place to right, and the document was signed, sealed, and rolled. She turned to John and cupped his face. "Oh my angel, I am so sorry. But his offer was simply better."

"I OBJECT I OBJECT I OBJECT I OBJECT I OBJECT!!" Duke Saxon shook. His veins bulged. His face was contorted.

“But why, Duke Saxon? You didn’t want the King to marry _that woman_ , yeah?” asked Rose pointedly.

The King half smiled, raised his eyebrows, and looked sideways at his soulmate, proud.

“Because I wanted _my_ objection to win!” he whinged.

The Archbishop hid a laugh behind his hand, and then composed himself. "How many objections have now been voiced? I shall need an official account for the registry.“

Harriet Jones stood. "I have been keeping a record, Your Grace. Exhibit one: Duke Saxon has called into question the validity of the Marriage Order, as the Royalty Soulmate Act of 1646 supersedes any subsequent legal obstacle. 

”Exhibit two: the Princess Reinette objects to Duke Saxon's objection, claiming that the negotiations are binding, and has called breaking the Marriage Order an act of war.

"Exhibit Three: Duke Saxon further claims that a new Marriage Order must be drafted and ratified by Parliament.

"Exhibit Four: Mr. Ianto Jones, Keeper of Royal Protocol and Law clarifies that the Royalty Soulmate Act of 1646 does _not_ require a Parliamentary Marriage Order. 

"Exhibit Five: Idris, the King and Ms. Rose Tyler's soulmate counselor, objects because of… soulmate reasons.” Mrs. Jones cleared her throat.

"Exhibit Six, which really isn't an objection per se. Duchess Lucille Saxon demands a divorce, alleging the Duke's infidelity. However this is pertinent as the divorce might negate Duke Saxon's claim to the throne per his very own law, the Royalty Marriage Act, as he would no longer be married, and I might personally add, it would be doubtful he could secure a union before King John X's ascension to the throne."

Many in the congregation tittered.

“Exhibit Seven: Lady Jabe Cheem has alleged that the Princess has been betrothed since birth to His Imperial Highness, Louis XV, Emperor of the Frankish Kingdoms, and remains betrothed, as has now been made apparent that official prenuptial negotiations remain active.

"Exhibit Eight: the Princess accepted the terms and signed the contract, thereby legally solidifying her engagement to His Imperial Highness, Louis XV, Emperor of the Frankish Kingdom, per the Emperor’s final counteroffer," PM Jones took a breath, "which was so crudely made known in the sight of God in this Holy Abbey, just moments ago.”

"And finally, Exhibit Nine: Duke Saxon objected because he wanted his objection to win."

The Princess began to gather her skirts. 

"You stop right there, Princess!" Rose stepped forward. "I've got something to say to you." 

"This should be eloquent," said the Princess, tittering quietly.

Rose straightened her back and cleared her throat. "Since I was a little girl, I have loved this man. Truly and deeply loved him. This wonderful, kind, good man. I _knew_ he was the one for me. And I think I knew it even before this amazing miracle happened this morning." Her face glowed and her eyes shone. "You never wanted to marry him, not really. You didn't even try to love him, or at least discover what an amazing man he is. He's kind and brilliant and funny and caring and so much more than that. I feel sorry for you, Princess. I really do. You could have had it all, because I promise, if you'd just opened your heart, you couldn't have helped but fall in love with him. And I am so, _so glad_ that you didn't, because you do _not_ deserve him."

Rose reached over and took her soulmate's hand.

"You may be an Empress, but I am the Queen of his heart. And I'll take love any day over a golden throne."

The Princess of Versaillia tossed her head, did a quick turn, and the Stepford-like children scrambled to straighten her train. 

"And he has really, really great hair!" Rose shouted to her back.

The Princess left the Abbey on the arm of the Emperor’s man, her humiliated father, the King of Versaillia, trailing far behind.

"Exhibit Ten! The Princess has left the building!" Jack dropped an invisible microphone. "BOOM!"

The Archbishop cleared his throat and nodded. “Quite.”

The roar of the crowds gathered in the plazas and along the streets of the city mixed with the joyful din from inside of the Abbey could be heard for miles and miles.

Only a few noticed that their King and Rose Tyler had left the Abbey.


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And they lived happily ever after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I haven't had so much fun writing a story since I wrote "Who's Got Mail".
> 
>  **Oh my goodness! I LEFT THE ENTIRE LAST SCENE OUT OF CHAPTER NINE!** And it is an important one! [I've inserted it. (Rose gets dressed for the King's wedding to That Woman.)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11959470/chapters/27355836)

Jack Harkness whispered something into the Archbishop’s ear, and took to top of the centre aisle. It took all of his self-control to not whistle through his fingers and to maintain the level of decorum that was proper in the holy space.

“Pardon me,” he said several times. “I respectfully ask you to return to your seats.” He waited for the guests to calm. “For those of you who were unable to see or hear, and are confused about what’s happened, Princess Jeanne Antoinette of Versaillia has accepted the marriage proposals of the Emperor of the Frankish Kingdoms, and has broken her engagement to King John. The wedding has been cancelled.” He bit back a snarky comment.

“However, the King and his fiancée _and_ soulmate, Rose Marion Tyler,” he grinned, “request your presence at the joyous occasion of their wedding at six o’clock this evening, here in Arcadia Abbey. The wedding banquet and ball will immediately follow.”

The congregation clapped, stood, and were then ushered out of the Abbey.

oOo

John ran, tugging Rose through an ancient wooden door that led to the cloisters. The moment they were free from the ears and eyes of the wedding guests, he hugged her around her waist and spun her around. "Woo hoo!!!" He put his hands on her shoulders and grinned. "Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant."

"That was amazing!" Rose laughed with her whole heart.

"The best wedding I have _ever_ been to!" He gushed. "It was practically Shakespearean! Lush costuming, grand set design, soul-stirring music, comedy, suspense, drama,” he waggled his eyebrows, “ _romance_. Although too violent for my taste. Can that woman slap! But still, I give it a rousing four stars."

“Did you see the Archbishop? He was having a hard time holding it together. He pretended to cough a few times, but was trying not to laugh.”

“His Grace is a nice man. Plays a mean electric guitar, too. You should hear his _Stairway to Heaven_.”

Rose threw her head back and laughed. She shook her head and draped her arms around his neck. “This life of yours, is it always like this?”

“Thankfully, nothing quite like what happened back there. But exciting? Yes. I’ve met _amazing_ people, travelled to exotic places. And now we’ll do it together.”

She gasped as he impulsively draped her over his arm with romantic flair.

"Hello." She smiled up at him.

"Hello." He pulled her close--

"You're gonna have to wait for the man in the pointy hat to give the A-OK before the kissin' can start, m'boy." A jovial man with greying hair and a beard trotted up and slapped the King's back.

"Wilf!" John's attention snapped away from her lips, but she was still in his arms. "Rose! This is Donna's granddad!"

"Hello," she said kindly, looking up from her perch across his arm before she stood.

"Ya did good, King, ya did good. Now come here, luv, let me give ya a hug. Me and Lord Copper did a jig right there in the aisle when ya told off that Princess."

Rose flushed, covered her face, and then peeked through her fingers.

"Now none of that. You said what everyone in Gallifrey's been thinking for months now."

"Can't believe I told off the future Frankish Empress. Hope she doesn't declare war or something."

"Naw," drawled John. "She'll be too busy raiding the treasury to worry about that."

"Donna sent me to find you. Mind if I come out of retirement for the day and take the two of you back home? It's started to snow and the future missus here doesn't need to be dragging that pretty dress of hers through the muck."

"You have the old blue Bentley?" asked the King.

He winked. "Of course."

"And you'll take the long way?"

"The longest." Wilf laughed and clapped John on the shoulder. "Follow me."

Wilf took the scenic route back to the palace, meandering around the lake, through the wood, and finally past the main gates.

"Smile and wave to your people, why don't you?" Wilf suggested. "They've been calling for the two of you for hours now, and you ain't even married yet!"

Rose and John rolled the window down, and greeted the crowds with friendly, casual waves before Wilf delivered them to the main entry to the palace. The King's personal staff was standing at the ready in a straight line. Of course, they'd all been trained to keep a straight face, but most were fighting the urge to smile. As Rose greeted each person, their smiles broke through.

Once inside, John led her by the hand — they hadn’t stopped holding hands since they left the cloisters — towards what would become one of their favourite rooms in the palace.

oOo

Sitting at that same kitchen table where their souls had joined, King John X of Gallifrey and Ms. Rose Marion Tyler of London were simply John and Rose. She was wearing a chef’s smock so she wouldn’t make a mess of her dress. They shared a pint and ate fish and chips that had been delivered from John's favourite chippy.

A grin took over Rose's face. "You pulled it off. You actually pulled it off!"

"Naw, it imploded on its own. All we had to do was stand there and watch. But still, everyone got what they wanted in the end. Well," he drawled, "except for Cousin Harry."

“You think he’ll try and pull anything this afternoon?”

“Hope not. I doubt it though. But probably not the last time we’ll hear from him. He’s always got some scheme up his sleeve.”

“So I suppose this is our first date?" Rose asked before she popped a vinegar doused potato wedge into her mouth.

"First and last. Well not last, because I promised to take you all sorts of amazing places."

She frowned for a moment. "I get that we don't need Parliament's approval and all that, but isn't there other official royal stuff? What about a wedding license? Or posting banns?"

He shrugged. “Archbishop’s okay with it. And I suppose it’s one of the perks of being King. Speaking of weddings. I had Jack make an announcement inviting everyone to come back at six. I suspect most will be there, even a few who aren’t our biggest fans, but for the most part, they know who’s boss.” He winked. “And you don’t really turn down an invitation to the King’s nuptials.”

“Royal command?”

“Something like that. If there’s anyone you want to come, make up a give a list. Someone will make sure they’ll be here. And there’s already food and cake and an orchestra. And lots and lots of very beautiful flowers."

"So now the flowers are beautiful? This morning, sitting right at this table, you said you didn't like 'em." Rose raised an eyebrow.

“I never said I didn’t like them!” he protested. “I very rudely asked what kind of flowers took thirty-six hours to stick into vases, and Donna said there was much more to it than that, and then I said of course that woman would want something so complicated that it would take thirty-six hours, and then Donna told me about the gold, and then I said 'talk about gilding the lily' but I _never_ said that I didn't like them."

"You do like them then?" she asked cheekily.

"Those arrangements were designed and crafted by the very brilliant Rose Tyler of The Wolf and Rose florist, therefore, they are magnificent. Works of art. Those flowers brought you here to the palace, and to me."

Rose kissed John sweetly, and placed a hand on his cheek.

"Although they _are_ definitely pretentious enough to impress the most critical eye."

Rose slapped his arm jokingly. "I hope I never see another sheet of gold leaf again in my entire life. But yeah, I have to admit, they are fantastic. She may have pretty awful taste in wedding gowns, but she does have great taste in flowers."

"Do you think you could marry me surrounded by gold-edged flowers?"

“John, it could be a clown-themed wedding with everyone wearing red noses, and I'd still marry you."

"Well, if you can be patient for about four hours, I'll see if I can round up some red noses." He kissed Rose on the forehead and stood. “I’ll send a carriage around at five forty-five on the dot. Don't be late." He winked, and jogged away.

Rose sighed, rested her head in her hand, and smiled dreamily.

And in the distance, she heard the wolf howl.

oOo

Mrs. Donnelly escorted Rose back to the same suite of rooms where earlier, she'd been poked, primped, and pampered. Martha, Amy, and Lynda were there waiting for her, and they pulled her into a hug the moment they saw her.

“Show me that ring,” demanded Amy.

Rose’s hand shook as she displayed the oval-cut sapphire.

“How big is that thing?” breathed Lynda.

“It’s 13.34 carats,” interrupted Donna. “I don’t know the how big the diamonds are, and I know the four of you want a good gossip, but Rose, I need you to follow me. Amy, Martha, Lynda, I’m making you Ladies in Waiting. I’ll explain it later. But for now, you sit here and drink champagne. Believe me, we have _plenty_ of it."

Rose followed Donna into the dressing room. "Rose, this is your Lady of the Bedchamber, Letisha Jones. She was the late Queen's Lady of the Bedchamber.”

Ms. Jones dipped. "It is an honour to serve you, Ma'am."

Rose leaned in close to Donna's ear. "You're telling me that there's a woman who stays in the bedroom with me and the King?"

"No, _blondie_ , she helps you get in and out of complicated clothes, does your hair, and goes shopping with you. She has _great_ fashion sense.”

"Oh! Like Anna Bates did for Mary Crawley!"

"Yes, Ma'am."

Rose leaned into Donna's ear again. "This curtsying thing, does she have to do it? And does she have to call me Ma'am?"

"In private, that's up to you. In the palace and in public, yes, it's expected," Donna replied quietly. "And you deserve it, Rose. You're going to be Queen." Donna smiled fondly.

"Now. How would you like to take a break from that dress for a while?" her dresser asked.

"Yes, please. And, um, may I call you Letitia?"

"No," she paused for a moment, but her eyes twinkled. "Because everyone calls me Tish."

Rose smiled, relieved. "Alright then, Tish, call me Rose."

"Well then, Rose. Let’s get you out of that dress so you can relax for a couple of hours.”

oOo

Rose returned to her friends wearing a flowing, white silk, floor-length dressing gown. She dropped onto the sofa and then laughed into her hands. "This is mental."

"And you are go to tell us _everything_. Don't you dare leave anything out," demanded Amy.

Lynda rolled her eyes. "But some of it might be private, Amy."

"Especially don't leave the private parts out." She perched herself on a chair, crossed her legs, and placed her hands on her knee.

"Rose," Martha grimaced, "before you start, I have a confession. I called Idris and told her about you and the King. I waited a week after you told me before I did, because I couldn’t stand to see you so sad anymore, and it wasn’t right that he didn’t know. I hope you're not too mad."

Rose smiled softly and then shook her head. "I'm not mad at all. Not one bit. And you know what's even more weird? Turns out, Idris is his soulmate counselor too."

"I asked her to get in touch with someone at the palace, and she said she wasn't allowed to. That it was forbidden or something. But," Martha dragged out the word, "she did say she would meddle."

“Meddle?” Rose asked quietly, brows furrowed.

Rose told the story from the very beginning. By the time she reached the part about the apple, they were dabbing their eyes.

"So romantic," Lynda gushed.

“You _know_ I would have chained myself to the palace gates until someone came out and looked at my soulmark," Amy announced.

"I have no doubt about that," Martha smirked.

“You were fierce at the wedding, but I would have slugged her." Amy's eyes flashed.

"Me too," chirped Lynda.

"Amy, Lynda, Martha! Time for you to be Ladies in Waiting," ordered Donna. "Let's get the bride dressed."

The dozens of silk covered buttons were fastened up the back, Rose's hair was restyled into an elegant chignon, and her makeup was retouched.

"This is absolutely the most beautiful wedding gown I have ever seen," said Lynda.

"And the lace is amazing," Martha added.

“It was John’s Mum’s. I know it’s a bit old fashioned, but I love it.” Rose admired one of her lace-covered arms.

Astrid tapped Rose on the shoulder. She thrust a bridal bouquet into her hands.

"Astrid! It's beautiful!" Rose gave a side hug to the Floral Llaison. She inhaled the lovely scent of the pale pink and white nosegay. A modest sprinkling of silver dust sparkled under the bright lights of the dressing room, adding a barely-there shimmer. "How'd you know about pink roses? And the stephanotis is gorgeous." Rose turned the bouquet, studying the beautiful design.

"Thank your groom," she said. "He said he'd promised you pink, and you'd said he'd like star-shaped flowers."

"It's perfect, Astrid. But I don't know how you did this so quickly."

"I have my own stock of flowers. I could open a florist shop out in the greenhouse."

"And I really love the crystals," Rose said, wondering if they were another allusion to the stars.

"Oh, those aren't crystals. They're diamonds. Actually hairpins. You can wear them in your hair at the ball tonight if you'd like."

“Diamonds," her jaw draped. "All of that talk about _her_ flowers dripping with gold, and you've put _diamonds_ in my flowers," she deadpanned.

“The King is the one who sent them over, Rose,” Astrid laughed. “They're part of the White Point Star parure.”

"What's a parure?" asked Rose.

"A lot of money in a big box, that's what a parure is,” Amy interjected.

“It's a fancy name for a collection of matching jewellery. Just wait until you see the actual White Point Star diamond," said Donna. "Start doing some exercises now, ’cos you’re definitely gonna need a strong neck to balance that crown that you’ll wear at your coronation.”

Rose swallowed hard. “Coronation. Completely mental. How many times have I said that today?”

“Not enough,” Donna laughed.

Astrid handed floral boxes to the three bridesmaids. Each coordinating bouquet was slightly different and complimented their different gowns.

“And these are for you, too.” Donna handed velvet boxes to each woman.

“Diamond earrings?”

“They’re from Rose. Bridesmaids gifts of course. But I had to pick ‘em as she was a bit busy. Hope you like them.”

“Like them? They’re gorgeous,” said Martha as she looked at the teardrop chandelier earrings.

Amy and Lynda gushed as well.

"Astrid, you're not planning on quitting still, are you? I don't want you to leave,” said Rose.

"You kidding? Best job in the world, working for you and the King. Of course I'm staying now that _she_ stomped out.”

Donna produced two wooden boxes. The first was the box that was for the sapphire and pearl necklace."

"Time for a change of jewellery. Put the necklace back in the box, and put on the earrings. That choker is wrong with the neckline of your dress. I think John wanted you to wear it to ruffle some feathers. Everyone knows that was his mother's favourite piece. He was making a statement that the two of you belonged together."

Donna picked up the cube-shaped wooden box, and then flipped back the lid to reverently display the treasure that it held.

Rose was speechless.

"This belonged to John's grandmother. She wore it on her wedding day."

Rose stared, and pointed. "That's a tiara." She paused. "That's a tiara with diamonds and sapphires. That's a proper princess's tiara."

Donna rolled her eyes. "Well it ain't from Burger King. Go on. Pull it out. I promise it won't break. It's platinum. And I know all of these sapphires don’t really go with the pink flowers, but--"

"John likes blue, so that's what matters,” Rose said, tears threatening.

Rose took out it gingerly and turned it around in her hands, swallowing hard. "It's real isn't it? Not the tiara, but all this. Tell me this is real? And not the best dream of my life?"

As she pinned the tiara in Rose's hair, Donna gently poked her with one of the hairpins. "Feel real enough?"

Rose laughed. "Yeah, I guess it is." She waved her hands in front of her face. "Please no, I don't wanna cry."

"You go on and cry if you need to. We've got a bit of time and we can touch up your makeup. You only get one wedding. And it's been an overwhelming day. I'm surprised you are even upright."

"I can't believe arranged everything this afternoon,” Rose stated, shaking her head.

"What good is a royal staff if we can't pull off something like this? Especially when we are _highly motivated_." Donna patted her on the shoulder. "And the very last thing."

A long piece of lace was draped over Martha's arms.

"Your veil. Of course it isn't made out of straw spun into gold like _that woman’s_ ,” Donna said, rolling her eyes. "Then again, you didn't have to trade your firstborn in exchange."

Rose laughed. Her tears had stopped. Martha, Lynda, Amy, and Tish each took a corner, and draped the voluminous fabric over Rose. They flipped it back to reveal her face, and then secured it into the knot on the back of her head.

"Let's make sure we have everything. The tiara is old, shoes are new. The wedding dress is borrowed, and the sapphires are blue."

"OH! Let's take some pictures," Lynda suggested.

Everyone in the room pulled out their mobiles and snapped photos of the bride.

She clucked her tongue. "Just look at you. A _real_ princess."

Astrid gasped. "Oh! It's time! Just got a text and the carriage is out front."

"Ready?" Donna asked.

"Couldn't be more ready."

"Don't forget your bouquet,” Donna said, her voice cracking.

oOo

The doors swung open.

A string quartet played.

Candlelight was the only light illuminating the Abbey. The flowers that Rose had poured all of her pain into still lined the aisle, and were truly beautiful. They didn't match her perfect bouquet, and the blue sapphires didn't match either, but she didn't care. Like John had said, these flowers led them to each other.

The doors opened to the grand strains of the pipe organ. Her three dear friends led the procession followed by a young flower girl wearing the pouffy pink dress of five year old Rose’s dreams. She jubilantly tossed white stephanotis and pink rose petals onto the traditional midnight blue runner.

And then Rose moved to the doorway.

Slowly, with purpose, Rose walked towards her soulmate, eyes never leaving him.

John’s breath was taken away as he watched his soulmate draw ever nearer.

It felt like an eternity before she had made it down the aisle, but finally, they were together, standing shoulder to shoulder.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God and in the face of this congregation to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony, which is an honorable estate instituted..."

Rose found her mind wandering again. But this time, she wasn’t imagining herself next to her soulmate, she was _experiencing it._

“Is this really happening?” she said to John as quietly as she could.

“Yes. It is. Absolutely one hundred percent real.” But his lips weren’t moving.

Both of their eyes went wide.

“Am I imagining that you’re in my head? Are we talking to each other right now without our voices? Just using our minds?” she asked him.

“Not your imagination. Telepathy! Brilliant!” John enthused, and Rose could _feel_ that enthusiasm.

“I suppose that _Soulmates for Dummies_ book will explain it.”

“I can think of a few ways that biology could explain given the current theories about the relationship between the structurally unique brain pathways of those who have successfully soulmated.”

“Maybe we should be paying attention to the minister. This is _our_ wedding after all,” Rose said, silently nudging his side.

They stopped their secret, silent conversation and refocused their attentions.

“Many of us long to find our soulmate. Some have even given up,” said the Archbishop. “Only one in about a thousand are blessed, or lucky enough that one of their five senses recognises that singular person — that _one_ special person — for them. Let me pose a question. Is there only one person that is right for you? Maybe. Maybe Not. Pick the idea you like best and go with it. And to those of you who _are_ looking, I do believe in my heart that he or she is out there. Just keep your senses sharp.”

He turned his attention to the bride and groom. “Rose and John, I think you would have to agree that given your individual circumstances, the odds of the two of you finding each other were slim to none. But due to some amazing coincidences, you did find each other.”

“And not a moment too soon,” Jack said loudly, garnering laughter from the congregation, and side-eyed chastisement from the King.

"John, this morning, you went for a run. You took a longer route because you had to avoid that wolf that's been roaming the palace grounds. You ended up in the palace kitchen, hungry, tired and cold.

“Rose, you found yourself in that same palace kitchen in need of breakfast because," he cleared his throat, " _that woman_ had ordered such complicated flowers for her wedding that you had been up thirty-six hours straight, without a proper meal or sleep."

There was plenty of tongue clucking in the congregation and under-their-breath comments about ridiculous demands and selfishness and gold.

“Now there was more to it than the circumstances of this morning, but those are _your_ memories to cherish. But what matters is that the two of you found each other, and the rest is history. Coincidences? Manipulated circumstances? Miracles? I like to think it’s the last one, of course, considering my line of work. But perhaps it is a little bit of each.

“To those of you who have experienced the joy and bliss of having a soulmate, you know how unreal it feels! You believe that you are living a dream! Living a miracle! Now science can’t explain miracles, because miracles aren’t rooted in the laws of the physical world. But science has now begun to reveal how chemistry and physics and physiology and psychological traits all work to draw two like-minded people into this union called love, and for those lucky few, a sealing of souls.

“But may I challenge you, John and Rose? Don’t think too much about the science. No offense, King John, PhD.” He winked at the King. “Don’t try to explain it. Instead, be thankful for this miracle. Take joy in it. Never forget that it worked out in the end. Against all odds. It worked out. And that is what matters.”

The Archbishop ended the homily, and returned to the traditional order of service. Soon, _that_ part of the ceremony that had everyone’s nerves frazzled arrived.

“Therefore, if anyone can show any just cause why they may not lawfully be joined together, let them now speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace."

It seemed as if the entire congregation held its breath. But there was only blessed silence.

“Thank the Almighty God. I _never_ want to go through _that_ again,” the Archbishop said under his breath to the bride and groom, who both laughed.

John David Donald and Rose Marion exchanged vows prescribed by the Church, but also spoke their own private vows to each other, silently.

When the time to exchange rings arrived, Rose panicked.

“Ianto found a wedding band in the royal treasury. You can pay him back. Of course, you're filthy rich now. Oh, that was rude in church, wasn’t it?” John told silently.

The Archbishop blessed the rings, and the bride and groom slid them on each others fingers, exchanging promises of love and fidelity.

The Archbishop prayed, the children’s choir sang to the accompaniment of the string quartet, and then the ceremony was over more quickly than any other royal wedding in the history of Gallifrey.

From the back of the chapel, a somewhat mad woman in an old-fashioned dress waved ecstatically at the Archbishop. He winked and gave her a thumbs up before she slipped back out of the old stone church. There was a wolf by her side.

oOo

The banquet hall was awash in the glow of gold and sparkled with the reflection of thousands of tiny mirrors. The scent of gardenias perfumed the air. A ensemble comprised of a few members of the orchestra was playing quietly as the guests made their way in.

The King didn't want to waste the food that had been skillfully prepared by the caterer from that little village, even if it was far too complicated for his tastes. But there was far too much food — much would be wasted — so he had more than half of it sent to homeless shelters in the city.

The banquet was to have been a traditional Versaillian banquet -- seventeen courses. “No one should have to sit through seventeen courses," Donna had said to Ianto, who'd argued against the plan. "Ms. Noble. The wedding banquet of a monarch is a traditionally elaborate occasion, a celebration of highest order."

"It's not like I'm asking them to change the menu to bangers and mash, Ianto. But that woman's plan was absolutely... ridiculous! Have the kitchen figure out how to condense it somehow. Everyone is here for the cake and dancing anyway, right?” So the elaborate meal was pared down by half (still too many courses Donna had groused, and not grand enough Ianto had complained).

The hors d’oeuvres and cocktails were served in the long gallery as the guests waited to be escorted to their seats.

The soup course, consommé julienne, was thankfully light and fresh-tasting, not heavy, but it was the last light bit of food that would cross their lips for the rest of the meal.

Lobster in a heavy cream sauce was followed by roast chicken. “Little crowns! I love the crowns! Oh,” John said, crestfallen. “They’re made of mushrooms. Do I _have_ to eat the mushrooms?” the King whinged. “Mushrooms are _fungus_.”

“Hide ‘em under that fluffy garnish thing,” Jack suggested.

“Oh, this is nice,” Rose said, taking a palate-cleansing spoonful of raspberry sorbet.

Roast leg of lamb and vegetable were next.

“There are pears in this salad," John said, jaw set. “Marriage contract. Subsection IV. Wedding Banquet. Item 1. And I quote, _There shall be no pears._ "

Donna rolled her eyes and Rose snickered.

And then came the dessert. “Bananas Foster! That was item Subsection IV, Item 9!” Petite portions of flaming bananas appeared at every table.

“Hey Yan, where ya been?” asked Jack as Ianto sat on the other side of Donna.

“Managing the banquet. Quite the task. I am disappointed with the changes. Such a feast is a once in a lifetime occasion. The second, fourth, and thirteenth courses were eliminated, and others were combined. And I’m so disappointed there is no Savoureux,” said Ianto. “I was looking forward to the anchovies on pickled fruit. The jellied ham was missing as well. Pity.”

Rose tried to hide a shudder.

He leaned close to Donna. “I don’t want the Kind to know this. I’ve been correcting an error pertaining to the wedding cake.”

“Do I want to know?” asked Donna.

“No, most definitely not.”

“And did you fix it?”

“Yes.”

“Good, because I really want cake,” said Donna.

Ianto straightened up. “I’m not disappointed that the cheese course was combined with the fruit and nuts course, fourteen and fifteen respectively. The courses are a natural pairing, and shaved fifteen minutes from the timeline,” enthused Ianto.

“You really get into this stuff, don’t you?” Jack asked.

“Of course. It’s fascinating. There is meaning and tradition behind the purpose of each course. Shall I explain?”

“No!” said several of the guests around him.

“And last but not least, tea and coffeeeeeeeeyuh!” King John almost whooped.

John felt a soft thud on his shoulder. Rose was asleep. He put his arm around her and pulled her into his side, and she sighed. He could feel her contentment warming both his body and soul.

He let her rest until there was a fanfare. “Rose, love. It’s time for the ball,” he whispered.

“Mmmm. Comfy here.”

“There’ll be cake and champagne,” he tempted. “And of course, dancing. And I am a _fantastic_ dancer.”

She smiled, and her eyes opened fully. “I think I can manage a few more hours."

oOo

Ianto had, indeed, averted a disaster. _That woman_ had ordered a pear cake, but John would never know that she’d violated Subsection IV, Line Item 10: banana cake with white cream cheese frosting under vanilla fondant. And the last minute cake had been perfect. The palace pastry chef, of course, was well-practiced with the particular recipe, having made this cake hundreds of times over the years for John’s birthday, family parties and celebrations, and also, just because.

With the help of the baker who had been chosen to create the original wedding cake (which was sent to a retirement home), they managed to assemble and decorate the necessarily-enormous dessert. The design was simple, but elegant, and grand enough for a royal wedding. It was decorated with sparkling, fresh flowers, and another of the King’s favourite: tiny edible ball bearings.

Jack picked up the microphone near the orchestra. “Good evening ladies and gentlemen. Oh behalf of King John and his bride, the soon-to-be Queen Rose, I thank you for coming. Now I know there are differences between Gallifreyan traditions and American traditions. And as I am the Best Man, and not Gallifreyan, I’ll do what I want. Back in the good old Colonies,” there was polite laughter, “we have a few traditions. The bouquet toss, the garter toss—“

“No garter toss, Jack,” the King said, pointing his finger.

“Alright, alright, buddy. I’ll leave that to you,” he winked.

Rose covered her face as her face burned.

“Before I was so rudely interrupted, I was telling you about American traditions. Lots of us sort of dread the open-mike toasts and speeches as tipsy Uncle Bob usually comes up and embarrasses himself, or Great Aunt Hazel cries her way through stories about when the groom was a four year old and got into the cocoa powder. I’m not going to make you suffer through that, and I’ll keep it short.

“John. You’ve been my best friend since your family essentially adopted me when I was just a kid. We’ve been through a lot together. Much of which I can’t bring up in polite company. Of course, you were always a perfect gentleman. Me, not so much. But you always had this lonely side to you. You had an amazing enthusiasm for life — always learning, exploring, taking risks, having a lot of fun. But I could tell. You weren’t quite complete. Now a few months ago, I suggested something that I need to apologize for. This is probably completely inappropriate, and I might get fired from my job as Parliamentary Llaison. But John, I’m sorry that I convinced you to give up looking for your soulmate.

John closed his eyes and looked down. He squeezed Rose’s hand.

“But the Universe or God or fate or whatever had it all figured out. And like the preacher said, he likes to believe it was a miracle. And so do I.

“And Rose, I know you had your doubts this morning, but only because you were being completely unselfish. You were thinking only of the King and this wonderful country of yours. But then you came to your senses thanks to a gorgeous pushy redhead,” he coughed Donna’s name. “I have never ever _ever_ seen John so happy as he is now. You’ve filled that empty spot in his soul. Thank you, Rosie.

“So raise your glasses.” He lifted his champagne flute high, and the guests followed suit. “To my best friend John, and my new best friend, Rose. Live life to the fullest, cherish every single minute, and have lots of gorgeous babies for Uncle Jack to spoil. To the King and and his Queen!”

“To the King and _Queen!_ ”

The cake was perfect, there was no smashing into faces, but the King did kiss a bit off frosting that he playfully put onto her lips with his finger.

The bouquet was tossed, and Rose didn’t cheat or aim at her friends. She had a niggling feeling that there might be a soulmate looking for their match. That little five year old flower girl caught the bouquet, and Idris, who was peeking through a door, took note in case there would be need for meddling twenty or so years in the future.

The time for the bride and groom’s first dance arrived. As he had boasted, John was a wonderful dancer, and Rose was a rather talented partner as well. Her veil had long before been shed, and the diamond hairpins adorning her hair twinkled like little stars. Everyone could see her soulmark shimmering like a pearl.

“I feel like Cinderella, and you’re my very own, real life Prince Charming. When I was just a kid, I'd dance around my room with my teddy bear, pretending he was you.”

“No more teddy bears,” said John, grinning.

“No more hiding.”

She leaned her head on his shoulder when a slower song began. "I found out this afternoon that Martha called Idris and told her about us.”

"And...?"

"Idris told Martha that she was forbidden from arranging a meeting for us, but she _could_ meddle, and I think she may have done some meddling, like--"

He captured her lips to silence her, and then he pulled away slowly. "I don't want to know. Do you?"

"I'm impressed! The scientist doesn’t want proof!"

“Not this time.” He kissed her again.

The music stopped, and so did they. John rested his hands on Rose’s shoulders, and then slid his right hand up to her neck. Rose closed her eyes, sinking into the warmth of his palm over her soulmark. She copied his motion — her hand covering his soulmark. Their lips connected. Their minds spoke.

"I _love_ you."

And they now understood that they had been blessed with a sixth sense: _Knowing_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some may be disappointed that this story didn't include their wedding night. But let me explain why: it began with an innocent five your old girl dreaming of finding Prince Charming. I wanted to end it on the same innocent note with which it began. 
> 
> But that's not to say they didn't have an _amazing_ wedding night. They have five (six!) soulmate senses on overload, after all!

**Author's Note:**

> Rose is an orphan. Just as in canon, her father died when she was a baby. Jackie dies of an undisclosed disease or accident when Rose is twenty.
> 
> Prince John is the son of King Alistair and Queen Doris. The King and Queen die in an auto accident, which is not described, and John takes the throne. This incident is 100% central to the plot. The deaths do not occur until a few chapters into the story.


End file.
